


the language of roses

by nanamilks



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Character Study, Complicated Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, First Love, Forbidden Love, Happy Ending, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Non-Chronological, Non-Linear Narrative, Porn With Plot, Teacher-Student Relationship, creative writing professor lee minho, literature student han jisung
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 11:40:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 32,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29575503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanamilks/pseuds/nanamilks
Summary: The only reason that Jisung's eyes keep flickering to his professor's lips as he talks is because he's trying to really digest what he's saying, and that's it. It's not because he's thinking about what it would be like to feel the shape of them on his own, if they're as soft as they look, if they're as sweet as the words that leave them. Would they taste like his regular drink at the campus cafe?(or: Jisung is happy, and he is in love.)
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 59
Kudos: 361
Collections: MINSUNG FICATHON: Round One; 2020





	the language of roses

**Author's Note:**

> i want to preface this work by saying that not all universities have strict policies in place against student-teacher relationships, and i know this. but for the sake of this fiction, in this universe i'm writing in, the university that jisung attends and minho teaches at does. 
> 
> Written for [MINSUNG FICATHON](http://twitter.com/minsungficathon), for PROMPT **A012**

There are moments in the day that Jisung looks forward to. 

The first sip of his favorite drink from his favorite coffee place on campus, the bitter taste of caffeine in his Americano with ice after a long night with little sleep. Riding the bus home after his evening class and snagging a window seat where he can watch the stale, peach tones of day slip into the penumbra of night. Finishing assignments that have been giving him grief and turning them in so that the generic confirmation message can congratulate him on a job done, well or not. 

Curling up next to Minho has become a constant. Sleep rarely comes at a consistent time from night to night, but consistent is the feeling of Minho’s body pressed up behind Jisung’s, strong arms around his torso and warm breath on his neck. He seems to hold Jisung tighter on nights when he’s been working too hard, like tonight. Jisung knows he isn’t quite _done_ working, despite the night edging into the morning, but seems to gravitate toward Jisung’s small, half-asleep form beneath his covers, looking like he needs someone to envelop him. Minho fits around him like the perfect blanket.

He looks forward to this maybe more than anything else.

Less common is waking up beside him. It’s not that Minho is ever _gone_ , just somewhere else; making coffee in the kitchen or taking his morning shower, but most often he’s back at his desk in the corner of the little studio, hard at finishing the previous day’s work. So waking up alone in Minho’s big bed, already so much bigger than his own twin-sized mattress back at his dorm but so much larger when he is alone, is constant, too. 

But when he awakes today, he finds Minho still nestled against his back, snoring softly with a limp arm still wound around Jisung’s waist. Jisung lifts his head to look over his shoulder. Minho’s mouth is open, and Jisung will pretend he doesn’t see the drool coming out of it for the sake of Minho’s dignity, but he can’t help the smile that crosses his face at the sight of it. Slowly, gently, he turns over in Minho’s embrace so that he can face him.

There are moments in the day that Jisung looks forward to. He’s not used to seeing Minho at dawn like this, with his round face squished up against the pillow and the morning sun tinting his dark hair with gold, almost cherubic. He thinks, reaching to brush his thumb over Minho’s sleep-swollen cheek, that maybe he’ll start waking up earlier so he can look forward to this, too.

Jisung is happy, and he is in love.

⋯

_somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond_

_any experience,your eyes have their silence:_

_in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,_

_or which i cannot touch because they are too near_

⋯

Jisung traverses circles in the margin of his notes while one of his classmates talks, offering her disagreement to the professor’s interpretation of today’s poems like she does every class. She doesn’t even have to raise her hand anymore; every time they finish reading a poem or passage aloud, the professor asks her what she thinks. Jisung has grown to hate the sound of her voice.

He can bet that everyone has, professor included, but the class is enjoyable enough that she doesn’t ruin the magic of a good literature discussion entirely. There are classmates whose opinions Jisung values greatly, who he finds himself eager to hear from about material he understands well and other pieces that he doesn’t really get. He’d taken some good notes before Hyejin — he thinks that’s her name, but he always gets her confused with someone else — had started her discourse. 

“Thank you, Hyeri,” the professor says, confirming that Jisung once again has her name wrong, “that’s an interesting perspective. You always provide really compelling points. That’s great.” A breath of a laugh leaves through Jisung’s nose; he’s too nice for his own good.

Dr. Lee finishes his casual lap around the class that he always takes while they’re having discussion, walking back to his desk and grabbing his big anthology so he can flip through the pages to get to their next poem. He sits down on the edge of the desk and lets his legs dangle, his scuffed up canvas sneakers swinging idly. They’re a fun contrast to the sleek black turtleneck and plaid pants he’s wearing, the metal-rimmed glasses sliding down his nose. Jisung always thinks he looks so cool.

“Any more questions before we move onto the next piece?” Dr. Lee asks, thumbing over the multi-colored tabs sticking out of the top of his book. There is the sound of notebook paper turning and book pages, too, as everyone prepares for the next poem on today’s schedule. Jisung slowly leafs through his textbook, and when he gets to the correct page, he skims the first few lines of the new poem. 

_There were some things I often had no_

_words or explanations for till after the fact_

_of their experiencing._

“Dr. Lee, about the last poem,” a vaguely familiar voice asks from the back of the room, one of the quieter students. Like Jisung who lifts his head and tunes back into the conversation, tucked into his little corner of the room he always sits in.

The professor tsks playfully, shaking his head with a sweet smile on his pink lips. “Dr. Lee is my mother,” he kindly corrects. Right — Jisung’s only ever had a few other professors that didn’t like being addressed so formally, all of them involved in the arts; he often forgets, himself, that they don’t have to be so ceremonial here. 

“Right, sorry,” the student agrees, continuing on, “Minho. Can you go over the last stanza again? I guess the last line is tripping me up. I don’t really… I don’t really get it?”

Minho shifts on his desk so that he can sit cross-legged atop it, resting his elbows comfortably on his knees as he flips back to the last poem. Jisung finds his gaze lingering on the teacher’s movements, how his fingers brush over the edges of the paper as if it’s the most fragile material he’s ever held, and how his front teeth look beneath his cute, pouty upper lip as he reads the stanza aloud. _Cute_ is probably the last adjective he should be using to describe his teacher, even if only inside of his head, but it would be impossible to _not_ think Minho is cute. 

He’s sure everyone thinks it; he’s heard a few of the girls in this class talk about him, and girls outside of it who either have him for other lectures or have had him in the past. It’s not uncommon to want to kiss him, or see him after class, _see what he looks like underneath that sweater vest_ , he’s heard someone whisper before. Jisung has to look away from him, now, otherwise he’ll start wondering what’s underneath that turtleneck again.

“Let’s break it down a little, yeah? _I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens, only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses._ So, we’ve gathered that our speaker is very deeply smitten by their lover, like, absolutely crazy about them. And a point of interest for the speaker as to _why_ they’re so crazy about them, just _why_ they’re so intoxicated by this person, is that they can’t exactly tell _what_ it is that makes them so crazy. 

They barely know this person, and yet the lover has a way of making our speaker so emotionally vulnerable. So we can imagine that this power they have over them, the kind of… elusive mystery in their eyes, may be what’s got them so infatuated. This infatuation runs deep, more deeply than any love they’ve ever felt. _Deeper than all roses._ Beyond the language of roses _._ ”

Jisung’s gaze has wandered to Minho once more, watching his lips move as he speaks, regarding the peaceful expression that always settles on his features when he talks about interpretation and meaning. He can tell that this is Minho’s favorite part of literature — the analysis and introspection. He can bet that Minho’s thesis for grad school must have been an incredible read. He has a particular way of explaining concepts and offering his opinion on them, word choices and effortlessly romantic phrasings never failing to make Jisung’s mind race. He hopes the look in his eyes doesn’t reflect the softening of his heart.

“That bit being in parentheses emphasizes the reflective quality of this speaker’s tone we’ve seen a couple of times in the earlier stanzas. By putting that in parenthesis, they’re able to speak about this love differently than they have before, as if piecing it all together, yeah? And then there’s the final line: _nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands._ That is a little confusing, because, you know… rain having hands? But we have to think of the rain as an embodiment of something else, here. The rain is like the ambiguous force of nature that love is. And our speaker’s lover has the power in their small hands to open and close the speaker so easily, easier than the rain can open and close a rose. And for that reason our speaker finds themself so entranced.”

Minho’s hands are pretty small. Jisung studies them, how they appear against the big book in his palms, and he wonders how easily they could open and close him, a rose that’s never been opened. He glances up just as Minho asks the class if all of that makes sense to them, and finds himself locked in accidental eye contact with the professor. Jisung nods slowly, once, chin propped in his hand, and thinks that the way Minho’s little smile makes his heart thump may be beyond the language of roses.

⋯

Jisung likes to think he's pretty well-dressed, but he doesn't think he's ever spent this much time devising and rethinking an outfit. One that shouldn't matter as much as he feels like it does, for that matter; it's not like he's giving a presentation or going on a date — situations that still never garnered this much brain power. He's had to make himself look presentable to read his work aloud for his professors, needed to look as confident as he wanted them to believe he was, and he's met up for drinks or dinner with guys he's met on campus and on Tinder. This is somehow a fusion of both, and Jisung's not sure how to feel.

It's not a date, and he knows that. As much as he'd like for it to be and as much as the nagging K-drama narrator voice in the back of his head keeps trying to tell him it _could_ be, Jisung has to keep shaking off the what-ifs. Minho may have asked him for coffee, but this is hardly an opportunity for romance. They're going to talk about literature. They're going to look at the upcoming material for class and review what they've already covered, and if Jisung impresses him with how much he knows and remembers, it's as a student and nothing else. Jisung is fine with that, too.

Sometimes Jisung doesn't know where his stupid crush on Minho stems from. It's undeniable that he's the most handsome professor this university has, the youngest and arguably most charming, too. But getting to know Minho's mind and all of the beautiful ways that it works and analyzes things, how he explains his thoughts and interprets the thoughts of others, that's what really does Jisung in. That's what's going to be his downfall for the rest of the semester, especially now that they've gotten so close. Can he even say that? That he's _close_ to his professor?

Jisung looks at himself in the mirror and fusses with his hair a little more. He looks a little nicer than he'd ever look for a study session with anyone else — a nice, tucked in satin button-up, skintight jeans, platform combat boots, big cardigan that makes him look even tinier than he is. He played with some eye makeup and his lips are a rosy color that looks good enough to kiss. He shakes his head at the thought. _Minho is not gonna fuck you. Chill with that._

"Wow, look at you," Hyunjin's voice from his bedroom door startles Jisung into dropping his lip tint on the ground just as he was going to reapply it. He squats down to grab it before it can roll beneath his dresser, and catches a glimpse of his roommate smiling at him in the reflection of the mirror. "Hot date tonight?"

Jisung laughs a little, a nervous habit beneath Hyunjin's curious gaze. He grabs his makeup and stands upright again, tucking it into the pocket of his cardigan and going to his bed so he can grab his backpack and sling it over his shoulder. "No, not really. It's not... not like that." He looks around for his car keys, spotting them on the dresser and grabbing them, too. "Just meeting someone. From class."

If this isn't a date, if it's really just an innocent study session with Minho, then why is he so shy to tell Hyunjin who exactly he's meeting up with? He knows that Hyunjin would make the joke that he's going to sleep with Minho for 'extra credit' if he told him, and Jisung wouldn't even know how to deflect. Does he need extra credit? No. Would he sleep with Minho anyway?

Hyunjin hums in amusement, leaving Jisung alone in his room and going back to his own. "Good luck, I won't wait up!" Jisung looks at himself one more time before he flips off the lights and heads to the front door. "Have fun, Sungie!"

⋯

Jisung squints at Minho from where he's sitting in the cramped little bathtub, knees to his chest. The older man is sitting across from him, leaning back against the porcelain and squinting right back at him. The dining room chair they'd set up beside the tub has Minho's laptop on it, playing some indie song from the early 2000's that Minho had marketed to him pretty fiercely before putting it on. Since Jisung had ragged on the last two songs Minho had played, Minho seems determined to play just _one_ that Jisung will be into, considering they've so far figured out that they have two very different tastes in music, and Jisung is determined to mess with Minho until the last possible moment.

Minho pushes a hand through the hot water, splashing Jisung the slightest bit but enough for the younger to wince as though a tidal wave has just hit him. Giggles leave both of them at his melodramatic reaction, and Jisung flicks some water back at him.

"Say something!" Minho exclaims playfully, eyes wide after too many moments of silence. Jisung scrunches his nose as if deep in thought, giggling and holding his hands up to shield himself as Minho readies to splash him again.

"I like this one! It's pretty good. I like it more than the last one," Jisung finally says, sincerity in his smile rather than trouble, and Minho lets out an exaggerated sigh of relief, sinking further into the water and resting his head back against the rim of the bathtub. Jisung rolls his eyes.

"Thank god," Minho groans, one corner of his mouth quirking up in mischief. "I was starting to think your taste was hopeless."

When Jisung splashes him this time, it's enough to wet Minho's hair and make him squeeze his eyes shut, the melody of his bright laughter far more beautiful than any song he could ever play. Jisung beams at him from across the small space, sagging further into the water until his shoulders are beneath it, limbs almost tangled up with Minho's beneath the water. It only makes them giggle some more, like two little kids playing in the bath.

Minho raises his hands from the water, opening his arms in invitation. "Come here," he whispers, flexing his fingers needily, grasping. "So far away."

Jisung grins, "Closer? How much closer could I be?" But he places his hands on Minho's exposed knees above the water and uses them to hoist himself up so that he can wade through the bubbles to get to Minho, settling between his legs. He rests his arms around Minho's neck and gazes down at him, getting drawn closer by his boyfriend's hands on his waist.

Minho shifts to rest more comfortably against the wall of the bathtub, licking his lips and looking up at Jisung with something indescribable in his eyes, like he's got all of the night's stars in his brown irises and they're just for the boy in his lap. There's still the faintest of smiles on his mouth, and as he starts to rub little circles into Jisung's hip bones, Jisung curls his fingers into the hair at the back of Minho's head. He scratches lightly just to see him lean into it like a cat eager for pets.

"What?" Jisung asks when that star-gazing look doesn't leave Minho's eyes. He leans down to capture his smile in a kiss, leaving peck after peck behind before he presses their foreheads together.

"Mm, you're pretty." Minho encircles Jisung with his arms, bringing them chest to chest in an easy hug. "So pretty. In every way that someone could ever be."

Jisung's face grows hot, hotter than the steam that's making him sweat a little could be responsible for.

"No, you," he childishly retorts, making them both smile brightly. Jisung's eyes slip closed and he immerses himself in the feeling of Minho's warm skin on his own, the steaming water around them, the quiet music playing beside them and the slow drip of the faucet that chimes in every now and then. Wrapped up in Minho like this, Jisung feels so comfortable, relaxed. Safe from anything.

Minho presses a kiss to his nose just before he whispers, "your heart is beating so fast."

That only makes it beat faster, it seems, and makes Jisung hyper-aware of it. "Sorry."

Minho pulls away just enough to peer up at Jisung, shaking his head softly. "Why would you be sorry, baby?" He brings a hand up to brush Jisung's damp hair out of his face. His chuffed little grin returns, dripping with mirth. "Do I make you nervous?"

Jisung thinks to say yes, but he realizes, in that moment, that it's not really that at all. He's grown used to Minho enough to no longer feel so stiff and unsure around him, every move calculated and premeditated so as not to make a fool out of himself. But now, four or so months in, the comfort Jisung feels around Minho is ineffable. He's not sure what the butterflies in his stomach and the trembling in his knees means these days, but he knows it's not bad. It feels good.

He shakes his head. "I just—I like this. Being so close to you." Jisung has trouble making eye contact with Minho for a moment, trying to wrangle the swarm of butterflies. "I like you. I feel so happy. And, like, safe..? I've never felt... like this before."

Minho always regards him like he's the most precious thing in the universe, holds him just as delicately, and Jisung can feel his eyes on him right now, boring heart-shaped holes into his skull. He finally lets their eyes connect and feels like he might cry, for some reason. He doesn't know if that was the right thing to say, or if it was okay, or what Minho might say back, and then he realizes that maybe Minho _does_ still make him nervous—

"I haven't either." Minho's lips brush over his jaw, and then his neck, letting Jisung burrow into the crook of his. There's a stale hickey on the stretch of skin Jisung's lips are pressed to, and he presses a kiss to it to begin reviving it. "I'm always going to keep you safe. Always."

⋯

There's a bit of a draft coming from the window they're sitting by, but there aren't any other free tables in the cafe, so Jisung just pulls the sleeves of his sweater down over his hands and his beanie over his ears. Felix does the same, shuddering a little on his stool across from Jisung as he reaches down to pull his laptop from his backpack.

The cafe's as packed as one would expect on a Monday afternoon, everyone trying to get their caffeine fix so they can carry on with the busy start to their week. Jisung's fiction workshop seemed to drag on forever, too much time spent debating whether or not a section of his classmate's short story should remain where it was or be moved somewhere more fitting, but Jisung's not too bitter about it, considering they'd run out of time and now his own piece won't get shopped until Wednesday. That gives him some more time to prepare for their harsh but constructive criticism, and to prepare his statement about the narrative's intent.

"The line's finally going down," Jisung comments, glancing over at the shortened line of people waiting to place their drink orders and the dwindling crowd of people waiting to pick theirs up. He looks back to Felix who's already typing something up with quick fingers. "You want me to get you something?"

Felix hums in consideration, finishing up his sentence before reaching into his backpack again, grabbing his wallet so he can give Jisung a few thousand won in payment. "Just a chocolate milk tea, please?"

Jisung pockets the cash since he plans to pay with his card, and gets up from his seat. "What size?" He calls once he's tacked onto the end of the line.

Felix has gone back to typing, but calls back a distracted, "large, please!"

Jisung moves with the slow flow of the line, messing around on his phone while he waits for his turn. He looks up every time he takes a step forward, so he can gauge how soon his turn will be, and then casts a glance over to the group of people awaiting their orders to assess how long he might have to wait for his. It's almost his turn when he looks up this time, and he makes eye contact with a pair of curious brown eyes that instantly make him want to recoil into his skin until he disappears.

That was just a bad coincidence, right? They just happened to look up at the same time, and now they're left with an awkward sensation sitting heavily in the space between them. There's no way that he was already looking at him _specifically_ , right?

When Jisung looks over that way again, they make eye contact again, and both look away with a quickness and clumsy smiles on their steadily pinkening faces. It's always strange to see teachers outside of class; when Jisung was younger, he used to think that teachers lived in their classrooms. Sometimes he still gets that fleeting image in his head, considering he rarely sees his professors anywhere other than their lecture halls. Seeing Minho out in the wild like this, his young face and stylish clothes making him look like any other student, has done more than caught Jisung off guard.

He dares to peek in Minho’s direction once more just before he steps up to the counter, and Minho isn't immediately looking at him this time, but does look over after a second or two, that sweet, graceless smile reappearing on his lips. Jisung isn't sure what to do, but manages to offer a smile back and lifts his hand so he can wave timidly. Minho gives a small wave back.

Jisung places an order for his and Felix's drinks, throwing in a pastry for each of them considering how far from both lunch and dinner they are currently. He pays and tells the barista that he doesn't need the receipt, then wavers for a painful moment by the cash register. His brain is ringing with sirens telling him not to go over there, because Minho is still there, and then he might have to, like, _talk_ to him. Not that talking with Minho would ever be a bad thing; Jisung has wished, like any other Minho simp in this school, that he could have time to speak with Minho outside of class, but he never thought the opportunity would fall in his lap like this. What's he supposed to say?

The feeling of the next patron in line standing too closely to him reminds him that he has to get out of the way, so he forces himself to go join the cluster of people hanging around the pick-up counter. He isn't directly beside Minho, but close enough for his professor to notice him. His chest tightens when Minho looks at him.

"Hi," Minho softly says, the gentle tone of his voice so different from the way he has to project in class so that everyone can hear him. Jisung doesn't think he's ever stood this near to him; they're about the same height, but Minho's got more of a build on him than Jisung does. It makes him feel a bit small. He has to restrain himself from the fleeting thought of what his build might actually be like, beneath the cute sweater-and-collared-shirt combination he's wearing today.

"Hi," Jisung replies, pulling his sleeves over his hands once again before folding them over his chest, otherwise he won't know what to do with them.

Minho looks down at his own hands for a moment, playing with one of the rings on his fingers. He returns his attention to Jisung after gathering his thoughts. "How's it going?"

"Oh—good! I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm great! I'm great. Thank you."

Jisung fully expected this to be awkward, and even in this moment, he still can't fathom how awkward it actually is. He wonders why Minho would even want to be talking to him, but knows him to be friendly, ever approachable. A certain warm aura always seems to radiate from him. Jisung's always felt that. But Jisung doesn't necessarily consider himself approachable, doesn't really know his way around small talk and isn't the best at holding eye contact.

That doesn't seem to deter Minho, though. "Busy day today?"

Jisung makes a head motion that's neither a nod nor a head shake, since his day has been neither busy nor uneventful. "A little bit? I only have two classes today but they're both three hours long. We do a lot."

Minho makes an interested little noise, and steps up to the counter when the barista sets down a very green drink and calls out his name. Even though he has his order, he doesn't leave. "What classes do you have?"

Jisung starts to feel a little bad, since he doesn't want to keep Minho if he's got to be somewhere. But Minho has this attentive glimmer in his eyes as he leans his hip against the display table of coffee bags and mugs. "Fiction studio and media studies on Monday and Wednesday."

"Oh, nice! Fiction studio with Dr. Kang?"

Jisung nods, smiling a little at the prospect of his two favorite professors this semester being friends. "Yeah, I really like her. She's fun."

Minho smiles, too, before he takes a sip from his straw. "She is! I used to follow her around like a lost puppy when I started here. I thought she was so cool. She's an amazing teacher."

The visual of an inexperienced Minho, freshly hired and potentially as shy as Jisung imagines he himself would be if he were starting a new position like this, following around an older teacher with lots of questions and even more passion makes Jisung smile brighter. "You must have learned a lot from her. You’re both… you’re both really great.”

Jisung takes his order from the kind barista and steps away from the crowd so he can press his back to the exposed brick wall, setting Felix's drink and their pastries on the display so that he doesn't have to hold everything. "What about you? Are you busy today?"

"Mm, not too bad. I only have one class at each school today. Have to be at my other campus in about half an hour, but it's just a freshman lecture so it's only kind of bad."

Jisung tips his head curiously. "You teach at another school?"

"Yes! I'm an adjunct, so I work at two universities part time. Pretty common for newbies like me."

Jisung is amazed by the implication that Minho’s a _newbie_. The passion that he teaches with and the easy, well thought out structure of his courses makes it seem like he’s been in this career his entire life. He wants to ask him a lot about that; how long has he been teaching? Does he ever get his coursework confused between all the different classes, let alone different universities? Is there one he likes more than the other? 

“Wow. That must be stressful? That’s a lot to juggle,” he does say, taking a sip of his coffee just as Minho goes to drink from his own cup. The older shrugs a shoulder, that kind smile still there.

“It’s a little rough some days, but I enjoy it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, so I’m happy to do it.” Minho pushes his sleeve back enough to reveal his watch that’s vibrating on his wrist, then looks back at Jisung. "I have to get going, but it was nice to talk with you, Jisung. I'll see you in class tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course! Wouldn't miss it."

⋯

With a light knock on the office door, Jisung's granted access with the call of a muffled "come in!" He pushes the door open with some difficulty; there's a bookcase behind it that's inhibiting it from opening fully, and Jisung frowns at it as he squeezes his way in. Minho laughs softly from where he's sitting at his desk, fingers stalled on the keyboard of his laptop as he watches Jisung struggle.

"The delight of being an adjunct," he muses, clicking around on his computer, "we get the shitty closet offices no one else wanted. Cute, right?"

Jisung's never been in here before, always too intimidated by the idea of stopping by for office hours, and now he sees that that was for good reason. Having to be squeezed in a small space with Minho before all of this — before what they are now — back when Jisung was hopelessly pining, he might have had a series of heart attacks and died. Even now, going on nearly a month as _something more_ , being enclosed in a closet with nothing but a desk and a couple chairs between them has Jisung's mind racing, and his heart, too. He wonders what the soundproofing situation of a room like this might be.

But it _is_ kind of cute. Minho's taken the time to try to personalize the space, hanging up photos and placing little potted plants here and there, and there's a bright lamp with warm lighting on the desk that seems like it's trying to mimic the sun Minho doesn't have access to because there’s no windows. Jisung closes the door behind him and approaches the desk, looking around at the minimal decorations on the walls and shelves.

"Yeah, actually. It's got a lot of character." He smiles as he turns his attention back to Minho who's gazing up at him tenderly. He looks like he wants to do what he always does when they get to see each other in private everyday: poke his lips out for a kiss and reel Jisung into a tight hug. The twitch of his lips, like they're getting ready, makes Jisung giggle.

"I see one cute thing in here, and it's got nothing to do with my mediocre interior design," Minho grins, laughing when Jisung rolls his eyes and groans at the mush, as if he doesn't love it. Jisung sets down his backpack and shrugs off his jacket before he sits down in the chair opposite of Minho, leaning forward on his elbows.

"Aren't you too sappy?" Jisung leans in as Minho does, the older finally puckering his lips cutely once they're just an inch or two apart. Jisung presses a soft kiss to them, then another, and another, and tries to chase them when Minho pulls away.

"Aren't you too cute?" Minho gives him one last peck on the lips before he presses one to the tip of his nose. He nips playfully at it, laughing as Jisung wrinkles his nose and retracts. "Happy to see you, babe."

⋯

"Don't forget, there's a quiz on Thursday over the poems from today," Minho says as the class begins packing up. Jisung slides his notebook into his backpack and goes to stick his returned assignment in his folder. The yellow sticky note attached to the corner in lieu of a grade, reading “ _See me for a minute after class?”_ trips Jisung up now just like it did when Minho had first handed the paper back to him at the beginning of the period. He'd looked up at the professor in confusion but only got that kind, gentle Minho smile back as he carried on passing everyone's graded homework back. Jisung had tried to furtively glance at the papers around him to see if anyone else had a sticky note, too, but found none. He's had a pile of bricks sitting in his stomach ever since.

Now that class has been dismissed and everyone is filing out, Jisung wavers in his seat, clutching the paper in unsure hands. There are no other marks on the paper beyond the note, so if he's in trouble, he's not sure what for. Was it the content of the poem? Minho's always told them that they could be as personal as they wanted or needed to be, and only ever barred them from writing anything too explicit, like graphic violence or sex. Jisung knows he didn't break that rule, so is he in trouble because it was _bad?_ He'd felt pretty good about it throughout the entire writing process and even more so when he was turning it in, excited to see what his professor thought of it, seeing as he values Minho's literary opinion so much. To think that he hated it so much he needs to tell Jisung in person makes him want to throw up.

He waits until there's only a straggler or two still lingering before he gathers his things and trudges up to Minho's desk, trying not to seem as nervous as he is. Minho is a bit occupied with cleaning up his mess of papers and markers for the dry erase board, so Jisung hesitates before speaking up. "Uh, M-Minho? You wanted to see me?"

Minho looks up, a little startled, and nods once, pushing his glasses up his nose before going back to gathering up his things. "Yes, if you have a minute? Go ahead and pull up a chair."

Jisung nods, setting his backpack down and going to grab a chair from the front row of desks, dragging it up near Minho's seat. He sets his assignment on the newly tidy surface and sits down, folding his hands in his lap.

Minho sits down and pulls a notebook toward him, a leather-bound black Moleskine that looks well-loved, multicolored tabs and bookmarks sticking out from the top just like in his anthology. Jisung watches as he opens it and starts thumbing through. "I wanted to talk about the poem you wrote, if that's okay?"

Jisung glances up at Minho's face, trying to read the wondrous look on it to judge if this conversation is going to be good or bad. "Yeah, that's... sure."

When Minho finds the page he's looking for, he presses his notebook flat to the table and leans comfortably on his elbows. Jisung sees, at the top of the left page, the title of his poem surrounded by doodles Minho must have idly made while he was reading or thinking — stars and crescent moons and what looks like a spaceship, casting its light down onto a crudely drawn cow, ready to abduct. Beyond that, the entire page and the one next to it are filled with Minho's messy handwriting, notes guiding him through the poem and even some of the stanzas and lines copied down with commentary. The sight makes Jisung's mouth twitch with a small smile. Words would fail to describe the fluttering sensation in his chest and stomach.

"Every time you turn in original work, I'm blown away by it. You have such a way with words, Jisung, such a beautifully... crafted and melodious way of putting words together. It's almost lyrical. Are you, um, a musician by any chance?"

Jisung nods, biting down on his lower lip. "I write some stuff, sometimes. It's nothing serious at all. Just stuff I play on my guitar to feel something." He laughs airily and Minho does, too.

"I can tell. Your poems, and even your prose, sometimes, tend to have this songlike quality to them. As if they could easily be turned into verses and choruses, you know? Especially with the stanza repetition you do. When I was reading this poem, I felt that even more than usual, and I was... so in love with every word, that's the only way I can put it. The love I have for this piece is indescribable. You're very talented, Jisung. I'm so impressed."

Jisung has no idea how to deal with the onslaught of compliments, especially from someone he essentially looks up to as an artistic role model. Minho has shared some of his work with the class and Jisung hung onto every single word, line, and image, and found himself even more allured by him. So to know that he thinks Jisung's work is worthy of so much praise makes Jisung feel so happy, he doesn't think his little body can hold all of it. He feels his face turning steadily red.

"Thank you so much, Minho, I— that really means a lot to me. You really liked it that much?" Jisung can't keep his smile down, but tries to lean back in his chair coolly so Minho doesn't know just how much he's affecting him right now. How he's just made his entire _month_ , let alone his entire day.

Minho makes a _tuh!_ noise in disbelief, blinking at Jisung. "Of course I did! I read it at least five times. I even told one of my poet friends about it. They were just as impressed." Jisung is the one blinking disbelievingly now, his skin prickling with the burn of a darker blush. "Like I said, I'm a fan of all of the work you've turned in so far this semester, but this one really sealed the deal for me. You conveyed a feeling that I think most people can relate to, in a new and abstract way. The comparison of loneliness and trying to be understood to the circumstances of an extraterrestrial? So well done. You really killed it, Han Jisung."

Jisung wants to disagree, make a self-deprecating joke, change the subject or something, but he lets himself be flattered. It's easy to brush off the compliments of his friends or his parents because he feels like they're incredibly biased, at the end of the day, and wouldn't tell him his work is anything other than good. But to hear it from Lee Minho feels like an accomplishment more grand than any other. "Th-thanks. I don't really... know what to say. Just, thank you. It was really personal and means a lot to me, so it's nice to know that it's good to someone else, too. Especially you."

The sincere smile resting on Minho's mouth, and in his eyes, too, makes Jisung feel like he's basking in sunshine. Truthfully, he feels this way every time he gets to be in Minho's presence one on one like this, as infrequent as these moments might be. Minho has a particular way of making Jisung feel like the most important person in the world whenever they talk. Whenever he looks at him like that, with something like fondness in his brown eyes.

"Thank you for sharing it. It's an honor to get to read your work." Minho's expression softens a little, still sweet but a bit apprehensive. He idly clicks his pen a couple of times before he sets it down. "I also wanted to just... see how you're doing? You've seemed pretty upbeat in class, but... I don't know. There was something really melancholy about this one. Is everything alright?"

Jisung's smile falls somewhat. It's understandable why Minho would worry after reading a page full of Jisung's thoughts; it's a pretty sad poem, and he has to admit that he was pretty sad when he wrote it, around two in the morning on a school night, still recovering from a remarkably hard day. Jisung has his struggles, daily occurrences that bug him and recurrent wishes for things to be better, but he's fine. He is, more or less, content with his life even if he tends to feel a sense of loneliness, or low energy, or a plaguing invisibility that has him wondering what the hell he's doing so wrong— it isn't anything that Minho needs to worry about.

"Yeah, I'm alright. Everything's fine." Jisung nods his head to assure himself more than Minho. He looks down at his hands and traces a line in his palm with the tip of his finger. "I guess I just use writing to get out thoughts that I don't really want to talk about. It's easier to have a conversation with paper, sometimes. But I'm not unhappy, or anything. It's all good." He looks up at Minho and offers him a smile, one that's genuine even though it might seem forced. "Really. Thank you for asking."

They hold eye contact for a long moment and it surprises Jisung that it doesn't make him uncomfortable or want to recoil into his skin. Minho's eyes are molten amber and well wishes, and Jisung feels overcome with comfort when he stares into them like this. The last time they'd talked like this, alone in the parking lot after crossing paths on the way to their cars, Jisung felt a sort of inexplicable happiness that stayed with him all night. He looked forward to seeing Minho in class the next day, or getting to run into him again before that. Now, sitting just inches away from him in a quiet classroom with his chest so full of honeyed words, Jisung is sure that the adoration he feels for Minho in this moment is well beyond the language of any flower, much less roses.

"I'm glad that you're doing okay. I've been... I've been wondering about you a lot lately." Jisung can tell that Minho's trying to choose his words carefully, and he tilts his head curiously as he listens to him. "I'm happy that you're happy. I suppose I just... want to see you more confident in your abilities, yeah? And yourself. Because you're incredibly talented, and kind, and… funny. You’re sweet. You're a good person. But it seems like you hold back a lot."

The only reason that Jisung's eyes keep flickering to Minho's lips as he talks is because he's trying to really digest what he's saying, and that's it. It's not because he's thinking about what it would be like to feel the shape of them on his own, if they're as soft as they look, if they're as sweet as the words that leave them. Would they taste like his regular drink at the campus cafe?

"Thank you, Minho," Jisung murmurs, forcing himself to gaze back at Minho's eyes that, unless he's going crazy, seem like they're looking somewhere other than Jisung's eyes, too. When they lock gazes again, Jisung adds, "I really appreciate you—uh, _that_. I appreciate that."

⋯

Jisung tucks his feet beneath him, getting comfortable in the corner of the sofa with the glass of wine Minho just handed him before he went back to the kitchen. While the older one tends to the dinner he'd left unattended on the stove, Jisung picks up the literary magazine on the coffee table. It’s been tossed on top of all of the fiction anthologies they've been looking through to come up with Minho's next lesson plan for his freshman class. Jisung takes a sip of the white wine and wrinkles his nose at the bittersweet taste, opening the magazine and flipping to the page Minho had said his work was published on.

 _Color Psychology_ , it's called, a prose form poem comparing different kinds of everyday impulses to colors with names Jisung would never have thought of, but can imagine so vividly with just a couple of words. It's amazing as Minho's writing always is, maybe even better than the last poem he'd read from him about childhood with images of angels and fruit and a tinge of blood at the end. He makes a mental note to reread that one before he leaves tonight.

As he's taking another sip of wine and flipping through the magazine after finishing Minho's piece, the poet himself returns from the kitchen with two bowls emitting steam and the heavenly scent of garlic and sesame oil. "I kind of fucked up the measurements on a couple of things, but hopefully it still tastes good." Minho grins, toothy and cute, as he approaches the sofa. Jisung sets his glass and the magazine down on the coffee table before he takes one of the bowls from Minho, turning to face him when the older sits down beside him.

"It smells really good," Jisung assures him, pushing his spoon through the sundubu jjigae, breaking the egg yolk that's nestled in the middle. "Thank you."

They talk a little more about the lesson plan but end up switching bases, opting to watch a movie while they eat. Sitting on Minho's sofa in Minho's apartment, eating dinner that Minho made especially for him and watching a thriller while they're curled up nearly shoulder to shoulder makes this feel remarkably date-like. Jisung knows that that's what this is supposed to be, anyway; Minho hadn't used the words _do you want to go on a date with me_ when he'd asked him if he wanted to hang out this weekend, and it's not the first date-like experience they've had, but this is the first time that it's felt like they're just two love interests trying to navigate romantic circumstances.

When they've finished eating, Jisung becomes more aware of how close together they're sitting. Minho has his arm strewn over the back of the couch comfortably, and Jisung is leaning towards him, but not as much as he could be. The idea of closing the space between them has Jisung feeling equally nervous and excited, and when he glances over at Minho and finds him glancing back at him, he can't help but to laugh because they're acting like a couple of teenagers on their first date.

"What?" Minho asks, a giggle breaking his voice.

"You're the one looking at me," Jisung smiles, pushing playfully at Minho's thigh but letting his hand remain there, squeezing lightly.

"Because I felt _you_ looking at _me_ ," Minho jokes as he teasingly ruffles up the back of Jisung's hair before smoothing it back down, laughing again as Jisung pushes him once more, this time in the arm. "What, you wanna fight?"

"Yeah, I do. Kick your ass in your own house." Jisung beams as Minho tries to mess with his hair again. He reaches for Minho’s wrist and pulls it away, but Minho just reaches with his other arm, and Jisung reaches to grab that one, too. There's a play struggle full of giggles and empty threats; Jisung doesn't realize he's moving closer to Minho and maybe Minho doesn't realize he's moving closer, too, until the older man's hands are on Jisung's waist and Jisung's clutching the collar of Minho's sweater like he might beat him up.

Time stops when their movements do. Jisung is perched on Minho’s lap, his body pressed so near to Minho's that their faces are mere inches apart, and all of the laughter has died in the space between them, smiles fallen. Jisung stares back at Minho, awestruck. They've never been this close. He's never seen Minho's long eyelashes this close up, the mole on his perfect nose, the glimmer of lip balm on his peach-colored mouth. Minho's hands on his waist feel simultaneously anchored and uncertain. Jisung's grip on his collar loosens just so he can slide his hands to rest on Minho's shoulders.

 _Is this okay?_ Minho's eyes ask as Jisung rests his forehead against his. Jisung's palms come to cup Minho's jaw, and he lets his lips on Minho's answer with a silent _yes, please_.

Kissing Minho is a slow crescendo, mint chapstick and soft skin that turns to eager tongues and roaming hands in just moments. Jisung's stomach feels full to bursting with butterflies and his head is so cloudy with affection and lust that he could slip right through Minho's fingertips. Minho draws him nearer until there's no air left between them, chests pressed together and his hands roaming Jisung's back beneath his shirt.

As Minho gently pushes Jisung onto his back, hovering over him with his lips attached to his neck, Jisung's chest bursts with light. Minho's touch feels like floating in a glass of sunshine. Wrapped in color, swimming in warmth. Jisung moans his name, and pulls his professor's shirt up and off.

⋯

_your slightest look easily will unclose me_

_though i have closed myself as fingers,_

_you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens_

_(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose_

⋯

Jisung doesn't have any right to get jealous, especially not over something as stupid as his teacher being a teacher and giving compliments to encourage his students about their writing. So why is it grating on his nerves so much hearing Minho kneeling down beside that annoying girl's desk, Hyebin or whatever the hell, telling her that her freestyle exercise is so great? Is it just because he really doesn't like her, or because he's started to selfishly hold Minho's kind words so close to his heart that he's begun thinking they're just for him?

It's not like Minho doesn't still give him nice feedback on his own work, so he has no reason to feel sensitive about this. He tunes out the sound of Minho's sweet voice delivering praise about her extended metaphor and continues scribbling in his notebook. Minho continues his rounds, stopping to pull up a chair beside someone in the back.

There's a moment of introspection while Jisung's scribbling a line about the excitement in unsureness. It blurs his understanding of why he feels so bitter right now — _right now_ is a sore underplay because he's been feeling unsure about Minho for a while now. He values Minho as his professor just like the rest of the students in this room do, but he knows that's not all it is. The dumb, hopeless romantic part of him has Jisung clinging onto affirmations that he's a good writer and an even better person, that Minho enjoys his company and maybe even looks forward to seeing him everyday, in class or around campus.

Jisung realizes it was stupid to think he was special because of something so simple.

⋯

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut and breathes shallowly through his nose, one hand firmly gripping Minho's thigh and the other wrapped around the base of him, trying to stroke him at the same pace that he's bobbing his head. It's a little hard to keep his movements in sync because he's got so much to focus on — trying to keep his breathing steady, trying to swallow the pooling saliva in his mouth without choking, trying to make Minho enjoy it even though he has no idea what the hell he's doing.

Every time he's handled a dick before this moment was with Minho, and it didn't go anywhere near his mouth, so this is extraordinarily new to him. The weight of it on his tongue and how it feels like he has to stretch his lips so wide to accommodate it, the oddly pleasant taste of his skin, the salty tang of precum that gushes out every few moments. He supposes that means Minho likes it, if the tugging of his hair and his constant airy moans don't make that clear enough. But does he like it because it actually feels good? Or because the kinky circumstance of Jisung sucking him off beneath the desk in his office has his head swimming much like Jisung's is?

"God, Jisung," Minho whispers, tipping his head back and licking his lips. Jisung watches him with watery eyes, losing focus on the task at hand — and mouth — and accidentally taking Minho's dick down his throat, making him retch and sputter around him with a cascade of drool down his shaft. "Ah, careful, baby."

His grip is too slick now, palm sliding too quickly along what's not in his mouth, and when he tries to swallow, he only ends up gagging more. Minho takes him beneath the chin to get him to pull off, and when Jisung looks up at him again, there's worry all over his face. As Jisung starts coughing and rubs at his own chest to coax it into opening up, the concern on Minho's face turns to amusement and it's obvious he's trying not to laugh. When Jisung wheezes first, Minho follows suit, shaking his head and running his hands over Jisung's messy hair.

"So enthusiastic," Minho jokes, and Jisung smacks him in the thigh. Getting down on his knees and trying this for the first time was entirely Jisung's idea, and although Minho had assured him multiple times that he didn't have to, Jisung was determined to show Minho that he could do it. He definitely needs more practice, but he's proud of the response he got from Minho in the short time he'd been giving him head. Proud that he could reduce Minho to a pile of mush in his chair, and that he could get him moaning his name over and over.

"That's one way to say it was awful," Jisung rolls his eyes as Minho pulls him up, standing between the elder's legs and letting himself be kissed silly. Minho's hands round to cup his ass, pinching one of his cheeks playfully. Jisung twitches at the brief sting.

"It was _not_ awful. It was really good," Minho's reassurance almost gets lost in all of the kisses, Jisung's mind growing hazy with how much he wants him. "Felt good, angel."

Jisung moans softly as Minho stands up and presses him against the edge of the desk, hands gripping Jisung's slight waist. The wet slide of their lips and tongues doesn't let up, only grows deeper while Jisung starts unbuckling his jeans. "Guess I'll need more practice."

"Mm. Maybe I can teach you," Minho sinks his teeth into Jisung's bottom lip and takes over getting Jisung's pants down, pushing the tight denim to his ankles so Jisung can kick it off along with his sneakers, leaving him in his big hoodie and socks. The wood of the desk is cold beneath his bare ass when Minho lifts him up and sets him down on it.

"Yeah," he sighs, closing his eyes and tipping his head back as Minho starts sucking at his neck. Minho pushes his legs apart and pulls open one of the desk's top drawers, fishing for the bottle of lube they recently stashed away for moments just like this. "T-teach me everything, hyung."

With Minho between his legs and his name on Minho's tongue, Jisung feels like he's on top of the world. He holds on tightly to Minho's shoulders as he gets jolted relentlessly, moaning in delight as each thrust brings them closer to climax. Minho is already starting to pant, and Jisung knows he's going to come soon. He almost wants to ask Minho to come inside of him, and he knows that Minho would. He would do anything for him. He's said that so many times.

"Jisung," Minho whispers, releasing his grip on Jisung's thigh so he can guide their mouths together. Jisung is too dizzy to open his eyes, breathing out Minho's name over and over again until he's gasping it. "Baby, look at me."

When Jisung opens his eyes, he has to squint so that Minho's not a blur of skin in front of him. Minho is looking back at him, never ceasing his hips' steady movement.

"Eyes on me. Focus on me."

Jisung nods quickly, moaning helplessly. Minho starts fucking him harder and faster. They hold eye contact despite how hard it is to keep their eyes open and focused. Jisung can feel his welling with tears, and he tries to say Minho's name again, but it gets stuck in his throat.

When Minho starts to come, his eyes slip closed for a moment and his grip on Jisung's body tenses. Staring into Minho's eyes, Jisung feels so much adoration that it seems to flow through his body, drenching him in light. He doesn't think he could ever express it. There are no words that could begin to describe the closeness that he feels toward Minho right now, but he knows Minho is looking at him the same way.

He orgasms with a shudder, a cry, and Minho's palm over his mouth. Minho kisses him like he's made of glass.

⋯

The streetlights in this niche of town have always been a little off, tinting the night a sickly green that always makes Jisung feel like he's about to get abducted. As off-putting as it is, it had been comforting when he was writing one of his favorite pieces this semester and it's comforting now, too, sitting on the asphalt with his skateboard beside him while he watches his friends skirt stair railings and curbs. He's leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, nursing his warm beer every few minutes, usually when he finds himself laughing so hard at one of his buddy's failed tricks or stupid jokes that he needs a drink to calm him down.

"You did not," Seungmin coasts in a circle around Hyunjin who'd stopped to tie his shoe again, this time double-knotting it like they've been telling him to all night. "You're full of shit."

"I am not full of shit! What makes you think I didn't do it?" Hyunjin stands up, trying to go after Seungmin who kicks off and speeds away from him toward the other end of the parking lot.

"You've been trying to fuck him for ages. If you haven't by now, you aren't going to." Felix takes a sip from his beer and leans into Jisung's side, pulling his beanie down further over his ears to protect himself from the autumn chill. Hyunjin scoffs, holding up double middle fingers as he breezes past the two of them.

"I did! You can ask Yeji and Sunwoo. They saw me leave with him."

"Well congratulations, assuming you're not lying out of your ass," Seungmin snickers as he rolls back over to their little group, dipping down to grab his bottle from near Felix's feet. "All my dudes getting their shit wrecked lately. I love that for us."

“Friends who get railed together, stay together,” Hyunjin chimes in.

Jisung wrinkles his nose and laughs too loudly. “Don’t say it like that!”

As Felix starts filling them in on the latest with the girl he's been seeing, Jisung finishes his beer, reaching behind him to set his empty bottle with the others off near Hyunjin's backpack. He gets to his feet and steps onto his board, pushing off to meander between the white lines of parking spaces and around the street lamps in lazy figure-eights. Their energetic conversation and the sound of their laughter makes Jisung feel like he's at home.

They haven't been able to get together like this in a long time. The last gathering was in the summer, right before classes were about to begin again, and they'd spent the entire night coasting around on their boards, talking about everything and nothing, and having the time of their lives. There is a certain kind of honor that comes with getting to listen to the people he cares for talk about what makes them happy and what does not, to watch them be vulnerable and let himself be vulnerable in turn. Jisung loves them.

"What about you, Ji?" the call of Hyunjin's voice pulls him from the sentimental cloud that was starting to envelop him. He hums questioningly, skating back over to them and wrapping his arms around Hyunjin's torso from behind, hooking his chin over his shoulder.

"What about me?"

"How are things with that guy?" Seungmin asks.

Oh. He _did_ tell them about Minho. As vaguely as possible, of course; he never used a name and he never said an age, only offering that he met a guy on campus and they've been seeing each other for a couple of months now. Despite the little detail he gives them and the infuriating mystery of being kept in the dark about your best friend's love life, the joy in Jisung's attitude and the hickeys on his neck are all the evidence they seem to need. They don't press him anymore, but he understands the desire to know that Jisung is still happy. They don't know the half of it.

"Good," Jisung grins, allowing Hyunjin to start tugging him around the parking lot, still holding onto him in a backwards hug. "Really good."

Jisung hasn't felt this happy, so content with his life, in a long time.

⋯

From where he's sitting on the sofa, he can see Minho's back hunched over the kitchen table just beyond the doorway. He's been there for hours, and Jisung knows he must be feeling stretched thin — he has to prepare final exams for four different classes and despite Jisung's offers to help, he doesn't want any. He's on his third cup of coffee since the afternoon, and with it well after ten in the evening, Jisung doesn't want to enable him to have another cup but wants to offer to make him one, just as some kind of peace offering.

It's stupid to say that he misses Minho when Minho is right there. They haven't had a conversation today that hasn't consisted of forced small talk or distracted feedback on what the other is working on, but even that has dwindled into radio silence. Jisung had been sitting at the table with Minho for most of the day, but when Minho stopped paying attention to him in favor of his work, Jisung took it upon himself to move to a different room. He left him with a kiss on the forehead and Minho had smiled softly up at him, but something still felt off. Still _does_ feel off.

Jisung doesn't want to bother him, but the fact he hasn't taken a single break worries him. While he'd prefer if a potential break is spent with him, he mostly just wants Minho to step away from his work and breathe, eat, maybe take a nap. As much as Jisung wants a god damn kiss, just one this entire weekend, he wants Minho to take care of himself first.

He puts his textbook and laptop on the coffee table and gets up from the sofa, folding his arms awkwardly around himself and heading toward the kitchen. He stalls in the archway, letting his eyes study Minho's tense form, how even beneath his big t-shirt he looks like he's holding his muscles taut. He's staring at his laptop screen but not typing, drumming his fingers on the open book beside him before he starts moving his finger along the trackpad, opening new files and closing others and putting some side by side.

Jisung isn't sure how much time passes while he's just standing there, thinking of the best way to approach him. Should he outright ask him if he wants to take a break? Should he tell him that he misses him? He doesn't want him to snap again like he did earlier in the evening. Jisung's still a little shaken from it; it was the first time Minho had spoken to him without honey in his voice.

"What, Jisung?" Minho interjects his thoughts, startling him into taking a half step back. There isn't necessarily acid in his tone, but exasperation. Like the last thing he wants is Jisung bothering him right now.

Jisung opens his mouth to speak, but can't find words to say. At the risk of annoying Minho any more, he manages to say, "I just... wanted to check on you. You haven't left the table in a long time, so I—"

Minho breathes out a steady sigh, taking his glasses off and setting them down on his keyboard before scrubbing his hands over his face. "Because I'm busy, baby."

"I know, I just didn't... you haven't eaten or anything." Jisung wrings his hands together, looking down at them instead of Minho. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to make dinner, or order something."

"You can if you want to. I'm not hungry."

Jisung licks his lips slowly and hates himself for how his heart is racing, how his eyes are starting to sting. Why even invite him over if he wasn't going to talk to Jisung all day? Why let him stay here if he's bothering him so much? Jisung cards his fingers through his hair. "Do you want me to leave?"

There's a short stretch of silence before Minho turns in his seat, looking at Jisung even though Jisung can't bring himself to look back at him. The energy in the room shifts as Minho gets up from his chair and crosses the floor to get to Jisung, standing in front of him wordlessly for a second. Then he's resting a hand on Jisung's arm, and the touch vaguely eases the tension between them.

"No, sweetheart. I don't want you to leave." Minho rests his other hand on Jisung's other arm, rubbing them both gently. Jisung finally looks up at him, trying to keep the look in his eyes neutral and not at all indicative of how dejected he feels. Minho's eyes are soft albeit it red around the rim from stress, or lack of sleep. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you think I don't want you here. I always want you here."

Jisung swallows the lump in his throat. "But I'm bothering you. I can go, if you want me to."

Minho shakes his head, pulling Jisung into a hug that lasts for a good while. Jisung wraps his arms around him, too, clutching the back of his shirt as if to anchor him there so he doesn't have to miss him anymore.

"I'm sorry," Minho whispers into Jisung's hair. When Jisung looks up at him this time, it's to pucker his lips out for a kiss the way that Minho usually does. Minho smiles, and it's the biggest accomplishment Jisung's had all day, even more than finishing his literary criticism study guide or acing his practice quiz for Statistics. "Let's get dinner, huh? What do you want?"

⋯

Jisung slings his backpack onto his shoulder and pushes in his chair, saying a shy goodbye to the girl that always sits next to him. The class was dismissed maybe five minutes ago, but there are still some people left behind finishing up the quiz that seems to have given everyone a little trouble. Minho had warned that the assessments were going to start getting a little trickier the closer they got to midterms so that they'd be more prepared, and he wasn't kidding. Jisung himself spent way too long trying to figure out if one of the questions was a trick or not, and equally as long writing out an answer so overly elaborate that it took up all of the allotted space and he had to turn the paper over to write on the back.

He zips up his coat and squeezes past the chairs to get out of the row of tables, and upon seeing today's stack of quizzes still sitting at the end-most table, he collects them as a way of helping out Minho who seems to have gotten sidetracked from picking them up because a student wanted to talk to him. Jisung straightens out the stack and goes around picking up the other ones, combining them and bringing them over to Minho's desk, searching for a good place to set them.

"How did it go?" Minho's voice comes, the older walking away from his little side meeting as the student heads out the door. He steps up beside Jisung and gladly takes the stack of quizzes that Jisung holds out to him, tucking them away in a folder with cats on it. "Thank you, Sung."

"It was okay. You really were not joking when you said the quizzes were going to get harder," Jisung laughs, shaking his head. Minho laughs too and gives Jisung a mischievous little smile.

"Gotta keep you guys on your toes. I'm worried you're all getting too comfortable with me handing you the answers all the time. I talk too much and you love to take advantage of it." He laughs again and Jisung smirks.

"Maybe a little, tiny bit."

Minho walks around his desk to get to his coat that's hanging over his chair, slipping it on and zipping it up. He looks at Jisung with sincere concern when he pauses to ask, "it wasn't _too_ hard was it? Like, was it unfair?"

"No! Not at all," Jisung shakes his head, grinning when Minho deflates with a sigh of relief. "It was challenging, but it wasn't hard, if that makes sense? It made us think. It was a top tier quiz."

Minho looks really pleased with that. Jisung can't believe that one of his favorite teachers he's ever had could still worry that they're not as good of a teacher as they are. Jisung would spend every second of the day reminding Minho of how excellent of a mentor he is if he needed to. 

"Thank you. I'm glad you enjoyed it." Minho laughs, pulling the strap of his bag onto his shoulder. He gestures toward the door for Jisung to go first and follows his lead, flicking the lights off on the way out.

As they walk through the third floor of the liberal arts building and down all of the stairs it takes to get to the first, conversation flows as it usually does between them in these past few weeks that they've been walking to and from class together — talk of academics and upcoming curriculum turns to personal plans outside of class, which veers off into a million different directions while they talk like Jisung and Minho, just two guys on campus. Not Han Jisung, literature major, and Dr. Lee Minho, creative writing professor.

The air outside is crisp but not bitter just yet as the school year moves sluggishly through September and into October. When Jisung takes the long walk from the lecture hall to the parking lot with Minho, he often feels the urge to walk close to him if only to keep warm, and sometimes they do, brushing shoulders on accident and having an awkward laugh about it. Jisung wants to hold onto the current that passes through them.

They walk in comfortable silence as they approach the parking lot, about to go their separate ways to get to their cars. Minho would usually say the first goodbye right about now, as they're passing between the two street lamps that lead to the crosswalk. But he's quiet, and when he stops walking, Jisung stops too, turning around and furrowing his eyebrows.

"Everything okay?" Jisung asks, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his coat. Minho looks sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck and chewing the inside of his lip like he wants to say something. Jisung tips his head. "Did you forget something?"

"No, no! I was just, uh," he clears his throat, seeming to find it hard to look Jisung in the eyes which, considering Jisung's usually the one that can't hold eye contact, is pretty interesting. "I was wondering, if you're not too busy, if you'd want to... get coffee or something sometime. Or lunch, or dinner. Whatever."

Jisung's eyes are so wide they could fall right out of his head. He blinks them a few times as if to ground himself, and now has trouble looking at Minho, too.

"Wh—really?"

Minho laughs awkwardly, but then nods. He clears his throat again, and it seems like a nervous habit. "Uh, yeah. You're just... you're nice to talk to. Feels like we could talk for hours and never run out of things to say. I um... I like that." _I like you,_ Jisung imagines him saying next. The flush of pink that takes over Minho's cheeks is too fierce to be from the cold.

A moment of silence rolls between them before Minho is shaking his head and stuttering, “just, uh, I wanted to get your opinion on some texts I might have you guys read, and, um. I don’t know. I really value your opinion.” But the dark, fuschia blush that envelops his face suggests that that’s not really it. “You can say no, like—”

Jisung's soul leaves his body in the form of a shallow breath. If this is an alternate universe, or an episode of a hidden camera show, or a dream where he is the star of a new drama, he's going to take it and run with it. The edges of his mouth rise slowly, shyly, and he nods his head. "Yes. I'd love to."

⋯

 _nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals  
_ _  
the power of your intense fragility:whose texture  
  
compels me with the colour of its countries,  
  
rendering death and forever with each breathing_

⋯

Minho's soft, kind voice saying Jisung's name. His warm breath on Jisung's neck. Minho had rested his hand on Jisung's knee, and despite how brief the touch was, Jisung is still lingering on it. It's making it hard to fall asleep.

He imagines Minho squeezing his knee, brushing his fingers over the inseam of his jeans and moving his hand higher, gripping his thigh. Jisung has his eyes closed and his lower lip between his teeth, a hand caressing his thigh much like Minho's in his head. He tugs a little at the hem of his boxers. In his fantasy, they're still at the cafe, at the table in the corner they'd been talking at. There are people around, but no one is looking. He imagines Minho's fingers fondling the button of his jeans and popping it open. A past Jisung with more courage closes the space between them in a desperate kiss, and this Jisung, restless beneath his duvet, dips his hand into his underwear.

" _You have to stay quiet, Ji,_ " Minho whispers against Jisung's mouth, working Jisung's cock out of his jeans. He starts stroking him with purpose beneath the table. " _We can't do stuff like this out in the open._ "

Jisung tugs at himself, arching his back in his bed and whimpering into the dark before he claps his free hand over his mouth. Minho contradicts himself when he slides out of his chair and kneels in front of Jisung, mostly obscured by the table as he replaces his hand on Jisung's dick with his mouth. Jisung groans against his palm and works himself faster.

They can't do stuff like this out in the open. Minho can't touch him, can't hold his hand, can't kiss him. Can't even let his eyes linger on Jisung's lips for too long otherwise someone will notice and think, _that doesn't seem right._ They can't stand too closely together when they walk. Jisung often feels like he can't even call Minho his boyfriend in the confines of his own head without breaking some kind of unspoken rule.

" _Do you like it?_ " Minho pulls off of the head of his dick with a _pop_ , looking up at Jisung with big, glistening eyes, enchanting like the moon. " _Do you want them to see?_ "

Jisung shakes his head against his pillow, squeezing his eyes tighter closed. As he works himself closer to the edge, he slips two of his fingers into his mouth and sinks his teeth into them until it hurts, crying out softly. He writhes as the pleasure builds stronger and stronger, as Minho bobs his head quicker and quicker.

" _You do. You want them to see you falling apart because of me. You want them to know how good I make you feel._ "

Jisung's toes curl and his thighs begin to tremble. "Please, Minho, _fuck,_ " he pants, painting his hand and his sheets in white.

⋯

In a city they don't know the name of, miles and miles outside of Seoul on a Saturday night, Minho pulls Jisung along by their intertwined hands, running aimlessly down the sidewalk like they're late for something, but the blinding grin on his face says they have all of the time in the world. Jisung laughs as he stumbles behind him, too pigeon-toed for his own good but trying to mind the cracks in the pavement so he doesn't trip.

Jisung takes a photo of Minho sitting by the river in the middle of blue hour, the pale night and city lights behind him making him appear almost golden, glowing in front of him. No matter how many times he giggles for Minho to look at the camera, he won't. Just gazes at Jisung over top of his phone with a degree of adoration that Jisung can't believe is for him.

They sit down on the same side of a booth in a restaurant to have dinner and Minho keeps his arm slung around Jisung's shoulders until he has to release him so they can eat, but Jisung remains tucked into his side like that's where he belongs. He is Minho's boyfriend tonight more than ever and the knowledge of that only enables him to be even more affectionate, kiss him even more, call him baby a little louder so that someone can hear. So someone can look at them and think, _wow, what a cute couple,_ and add to Jisung's delusion that this is normal. That they’re normal.

Sometimes, Minho glances around like he might spot someone they know. He doesn't let go of Jisung's hand, but he slips it between them like it might become invisible. Jisung pretends not to notice.

On the bus ride back to Seoul, Jisung lies across the seat with his head in Minho's lap. Minho brushes Jisung's hair out of his face so he can regard him properly, a bright smile taking over his mouth just as one spreads across Jisung's. Minho looks at him like he's got the stars, the planets, the entire universe in his eyes.

"I love your smile," he says. "You're so god damn beautiful, Jisung."

On that bus where there's only a few passengers and not a single one of them knows who they are, their names or their story, Minho kisses Jisung square on the mouth. It is the longest, sweetest, gentlest kiss Jisung has ever received. Minho kisses him like there is nowhere else they should be, like this bliss will never end and they'll be walking down the street hand in hand tomorrow, too. 

⋯

They never talk about this feeling. The sensation of being pressed up against each other in a space they shouldn't be, lips locked and tongues dancing, hands roaming and breath heavy. They don't talk about how inappropriate it is, or the obvious fact that they could get caught by anyone and all of this could be over in more ways than they even know. But they do it, and the rush is unspeakably delicious.

At the very least they'll be in Minho's little shoebox office when they're struck by the need to touch each other outside of the privacy of their homes, or their cars, or that bathroom in the wing upstairs that no one goes to. Minho’s office where there's a locking door, and no one stops by outside of office hours without an appointment or a forewarning email. But here, up against Minho's borrowed desk in the classroom where their lecture meets twice a week, they can't lock the door. They can't keep anyone from coming inside. And yet here they are, Minho's lips attached to Jisung's neck and hands groping his ass like there's not a worry in the world.

This was Jisung's idea, having asked for one quick kiss and more or less abused his charm to get another, and another, until they found themselves in this compromising position on top of a bunch of ungraded papers. As soon as Minho had announced they’d be ending class a little early because they got through today’s schedule so quickly, Jisung’s plan started formulating. His smile is dripping with mischief when Minho presses an open-mouthed kiss to it, the two of them panting softly, whimpering wantonly.

"You just couldn't wait until we got to my office, huh?" Minho teases, letting Jisung nip at his lip and run his tongue along it. "So naughty, baby."

Jisung's smile erodes to a smirk, sinister in the way it moves to kiss Minho again, leaving a wet _smack_ sound behind. He wraps his fingers around Minho's wrist and slowly guides his hand between his legs, letting him feel over the bulge he created. "What are you going to do? Punish m—"

The sound of shoes trudging down the hall and voices drawing nearer doesn't startle them apart as quickly as it should. It's when one of those voices, deep and formal, echoes right outside of the doorway that Minho pulls off of Jisung faster than Jisung can blink. The elder stumbles back against the dry erase board and Jisung hops off of the desk, smoothing out his clothes and fixing his hair while trying to look like nothing is happening. Minho clears his throat and starts shuffling the papers on his desk, pushing them into his binder and into his bag.

They bow their heads to the vaguely familiar professor that walks in, a couple of students following behind him. They've run into him enough times to know that he's got this classroom after their lecture for his own, an older man with kind eyes that teaches world geography, if Jisung remembers correctly. He's entirely unassuming as he comes to set his things on the desk that Minho's gotten tidy in record time, and they exchange a bit of small talk while Minho tries to seem cool and collected. Jisung sees the slight flush of his cheeks, the way he keeps blinking, his nervous little laughs, and knows he's barely keeping it together.

Jisung waits outside of the door while Minho finishes gathering his things and says goodbye to his colleague with more formality than Jisung thinks he's ever heard from him. When Minho joins him in the hallway, the energy that radiates from him is strained, and for good reason. They've never been that close to getting caught before.

They walk in silence through the hallway as it empties, and when they get to Minho's office, Jisung finally speaks up as he closes the door behind them.

"That was... scary," he says, watching Minho drop his bag and coat by the side of his desk and lean on his hands against it, eyes closed behind the lenses of his glasses. Minho pushes out a labored breath and shakes his head softly, disbelievingly.

"Yeah, no kidding. _Fuck_ ," he curses as he brings a hand up to card through his hair, tipping his head back and standing still like he's waiting for his heart to stop beating so fast. Jisung feels like he can hear it pounding from over here. "That could have been so bad, Jisung."

It's in that moment that Jisung realizes the repercussions for getting caught like that would be far greater than some simple scolding for public indecency. He and Minho aren't just two handsy students trying to get frisky on campus — Minho is his _teacher_. Nothing about trying to fuck him in a classroom is normal, nothing about their _relationship_ is normal. The circumstances of Jisung and Minho are special. Unusual. Forbidden. Maybe it's wrong how that makes something carnal stir in the pit of Jisung's stomach and his cock twitch in guilty interest.

"It's okay," Jisung tries to assure him, setting his backpack in the chair on this side of Minho's desk before going to stand beside Minho, resting a hand on his back. "Nothing happened. They don't know anything."

Minho becomes a little less tense under Jisung's touch. The longer that it goes on and the more that Jisung eases his arms around Minho's torso to pull him into a hug, the more Minho relaxes. He turns to hug Jisung back, burrowing into the crook of Jisung's neck. His warm, sighing breath on Jisung's skin makes Jisung relax, too.

He smiles to himself, just a quirk of the corner of his mouth, when Minho presses a feathery kiss to his shoulder. He murmurs, "It was a little exciting, though, right? Now that it's over, at least." He lifts his head to look at Minho, smirking lewdly. "We should find a room with a lock, next time."

Minho stares back at him, his expression vacant until it's not: his eyebrows furrow deeply and his lips part, a model of pure disbelief. There's something like anger there, too. Jisung's smile falls instantly.

"No, Jisung, it _wasn't_ exciting. At all. There was nothing sexy about nearly getting walked in on by my colleague because we wanted to fuck in a classroom like a couple of stupid, horny teenagers. What do you think he would have done, Jisung? Do you think we would have just gotten slapped on the wrist?" Jisung just stares at him, and when Minho snaps, " _huh?_ " he jumps.

"N-No," Jisung squeaks, his throat growing tight as Minho lets go of him.

"I could lose my _job_. I could get fucking... blacklisted from ever teaching again, and you could get expelled, Jisung. Does that sound _sexy_?"

Jisung shakes his head, swallowing hard. "No. I don't want that to happen, that's... I never want that to happen to you. I'm sorry."

That doesn't calm Minho down. If anything, he's a little more outraged now. "Me? I am the _last_ thing you should be worried about here, Jisung, you should be worried about getting expelled! You really want to risk your education for _sex_?"

"Is it just sex to you, Minho? Because it's not just sex to me. How can you say that?"

Minho blinks a few times and his face softens. He leans against the desk and doesn't take his gaze off Jisung. "No, it's not. It's so far from _just sex_ to me, too. But that's the only way the dean is going to look at it. They're not going to have mercy on us just because we have feelings for each other, or we're in love, or whatever. At the end of the day I'm a professor having sex with my student and that's so not okay, Ji."

Jisung knows he's right, but it doesn't feel fair.

"But I'm an adult. It's not like I'm a minor. And I'm consenting to this in every single way, and—and it's not like you give me special treatment! You grade me just like you grade everyone else. So is it really that wrong?"

"It is. For reasons you probably don't even realize yet, Sung. There wouldn't be policies against this if it wasn't wrong."

"So what are you saying? You don't want to do this anymore?"

Jisung can tell that Minho wants to argue it some more, but he doesn't. Whether that's because he can tell Jisung is ready to argue back, or because he doesn't want to get any further into it, or because he can see that Jisung's eyes are going glassy, Jisung doesn't know. But Jisung wants to stop talking about it, and he kinda wants to go home.

Minho's eyes are sullen and Jisung has to look away from them or else he'll cry. Minho comes around his desk and stands beside Jisung, a hand coming to rest lightly on his back. "I like you a lot, Jisung. I'm… I’m, like, fucking crazy about you." When the hint of a laugh peppers the last of his words, Jisung wants to smile, but it's hard. "But I want what's best for you."

"I like you a lot, too. I want to be with you."

They gaze at each other like they're searching for answers to something. Minho rests his forehead against Jisung's and Jisung's hands find Minho's shoulders, holding him close. He can feel Minho's palms on his waist, squeezing gently and rubbing softly. The older man sighs.

"We've gotta be more careful, babe. We can't let something like that happen again."

Jisung nods, fully in agreement. It's Jisung's fault entirely that this even happened. If he hadn't been so selfish in trying to get some action in the worst place possible, they wouldn't be having this conversation right now. But would they ever? What would it take for them to have to sit down and talk about the reality of what they're doing? Maybe Jisung's stupid, dick-hungry brain was onto something.

"I know. It's my fault. I'm sorry I did that," he offers, but Minho shakes his head. "And I'm sorry I tried to make it sexy. It's not sexy."

Minho laughs again, and it's a genuine one, one of Jisung's favorite sounds in the world. It gets Jisung to crack a smile, finally, and he accepts the kiss on the forehead that Minho gives him.

"It isn't your fault. We were both caught up in the moment. We just have to set some clearer boundaries, yeah?" Minho squeezes Jisung's hips again before he sets his arms around his waist, and Jisung wraps his around Minho's neck. "We can't do stuff like that out in the open, and I hate to say that. I hate that it has to be like that."

Jisung kisses him on the lips, lingering, falling harder. "Me, too."

⋯

Jisung reaches into the bowl of chips between them and stuffs as many in his mouth as it takes to fill his cheeks. It takes him a long moment to chew through them, and when the scene on the TV makes him laugh, he tries not to choke on them. Hyunjin smacks him in the chest a few times, arm comfortably wrapped around Jisung's shoulders while the younger lies against him on their sofa, and laughs along with him, telling him to be careful. Jisung grabs his beer from the coffee table and tries to wash down what's left even though he's still laughing.

Hyunjin's phone chimes with a new notification and he picks it up from his lap, reading over the screen and letting out a certain type of giggle that tells Jisung exactly who's texting him. The older boy types back as best as he can one-handed, and when Jisung looks up at his face, he sees a soft, fond smile that he's been seeing on Hyunjin a lot lately. Jisung can't help but to smile himself.

"Is it Changbin?" he asks, glancing down at Hyunjin's screen just in time to see him spamming the text box with hearts and kissy faces that make Jisung want to gag teasingly but he doesn't, because he's happy that Hyunjin is so happy. He hasn't seen him like this in a long time, probably since his first boyfriend in high school, even though he's had a few boyfriends since that Jisung didn't think were good enough for him anyway. Hyunjin nods, biting down on his lower lip as if to keep his smile at bay, but Jisung starts poking him in the tummy to get him to let it out. He sounds beautiful when he laughs.

"I would ask how things are going with him, but I don't think I need to," Jisung grins, only tickling him more as Hyunjin unwinds his arm from around Jisung so he can protect himself. "You seem so happy lately."

Hyunjin's cheeks start to turn a pale pink as he curls into himself, hiding his face in his knees. "I am."

Jisung turns so he's facing Hyunjin, tucking his own knees up to his chest and resting his head against the back of the sofa. He nudges Hyunjin with his foot and laughs as he whines and curls into a tighter ball. "I'm really glad! It's nice to see you like this. I'm happy that you're happy, and that he's making you happy. Yeah."

Jisung starts to get shy because he's not often sentimental like this out loud; if he wants to say something sweet like that, especially to one of his best friends, he's going to do it over text or in a birthday card because it's so much easier to express himself that way — and it reduces the risk of them laughing at him for being so cheesy. But Hyunjin stops hiding his face so that he can rest his head on his knees and look back at Jisung, reaching out to ruffle his hair. Jisung's the one blushing now.

"I can't wait for you to meet him. He might come over this weekend, will you be home?" Hyunjin has told Jisung everything there is to know (and obscenely more) about Changbin and has mentioned talking his boyfriend's ear off about Jisung, too, so it's odd to think that they haven't even met each other yet when they're already so well acquainted. "Or do you have plans with your guy?"

Jisung wishes so much that he could share the details of his relationship with Hyunjin, that he could be nearly as transparent about his boyfriend as Hyunjin is about Changbin. By keeping specifics as small as Minho's name to those as big as _oh, by the way, I'm dating my professor,_ Jisung feels like he's breaking some kind of trust between them. Hyunjin doesn't seem to mind, at least not anymore; after the third or fourth time that he tried to extract more information about Jisung's secret affair and Jisung had said, a little more harshly than he intended, that it was none of Hyunjin's business, he stopped asking and stopped being offended by Jisung's reluctance to offer it.

"I'm sure we'll hang out at some point, yeah. But I wanna meet Changbin," Jisung says, and that makes Hyunjin smile some more. "Let me know when he's coming and I'll make sure I'm here."

They fall back into comfortable silence and continue watching their show, but Jisung's mind can't focus on it.

It's hard keeping such a big part of his life from everyone, but especially his best friend. It's hard not being able to traipse around in public with Minho, hand in hand for everyone to see. It's hard seeing everyone else's sweet little couples' photos on social media when he has plenty of his own in his camera roll that he's not allowed to share with anyone, or hearing about Hyunjin's romantic escapades with his partner and learning everything there is to know about him. He understands why he's not allowed to tell, but this is just Hyunjin. Hyunjin who he trusts more than anyone in the world, who would never tell anyone Jisung's business, who won't do more than make some stupid joke about extra credit.

It's exhausting keeping everything to himself. Hyunjin will probably never meet Minho, but he can at least know about him. Jisung wants someone to feel happy for him, too.

"His name is Minho," he says quietly, picking at a thread in the stitching of his hoodie.

"Hm?" Hyunjin looks over at him, chewing through a mouthful of chips.

Jisung meets his eyes, and tries to hold the contact, but has to look away soon after. "My boyfriend. His name is Minho. He's thirty-one."

Hyunjin raises his eyebrows, and then furrows them a little in confusion. "I thought you met him at school? Is he a grad student?"

Jisung shakes his head softly. "He's my professor."

⋯

Is Jisung allowed to be pissed off about this?

Sure he is. Staring at a low B on an exam he studied his ass off for, that he stayed up until the early hours of the morning rereading the material for, that he memorized the study guide for until he felt like his brain might fall right out of his skull — anyone would be upset to find that they didn't get a perfect score. Even more upset that they didn't score in the A range at all. Unspeakably more angered by the fact that the professor is their boyfriend and couldn't even have a little mercy on them. And Minho _knows_ how hard he worked. He'd been up studying with him most of the nights.

Jisung's eyes follow Minho's form as it heads back up to his desk at the front of the classroom, so unaware of the hurt he's just inflicted on Jisung and his ego. If he glances at some of the other students in the class, he sees a mixture of relief, of expressions that say _I expected as much_ , of faces that look a bit like his, disappointed that they didn't do as well as they thought they did. Hearing Minho tell them that he was pleased by the results and that everyone did a really great job, pisses Jisung off more. He says that no one had less than a C, but Jisung's embarrassed that he was so close to the lower end of the spectrum.

He doesn't wait for Minho after class like he usually would. He stuffs his stupid exam in his folder, tosses that in his backpack, and leaves with the flow of his classmates. He starts to feel bad as he's walking down the stairs, knowing Minho was probably waiting for him to stick around or even looking forward to it, but he's a bit mad at him right now. Jisung pushes open the door that leads to the parking lot and watches his feet as he walks across the pavement.

As hard as it is to ignore him, Jisung manages to refrain from sending any texts, making any calls, or dropping by unannounced to Minho's office. He misses him, but doesn't know what he would say to him if he were to speak to him. He has no idea how he'd approach what he's even mad about considering he doesn't feel like he should be mad about this at all. It isn't like he failed.

Jisung is curled into a ball in his desk chair, flipping through his statistics textbook to find the chapter he needs for his next practice quiz. His exam in that class isn't for three days, but he's pretty shit at math and needs all the study time he can get. As he's working out the equation to the next problem on his quiz, his phone buzzes. He's keen on ignoring it like he's been ignoring every other notification for the last couple of hours, but it continues buzzing, a call waiting to be answered. He glares at his phone that's lying face down on his desk; the only people that ever call him are his parents, Hyunjin if it's important, and Minho.

He reaches for his phone and sincerely hopes it's Hyunjin. Of course it's not.

Jisung pushes out a long sigh before he accepts the call and brings his phone to his ear. "Hey."

"Hi," Minho responds. Jisung shifts in his chair so he can sit cross-legged, resting his head on his fist and squishing his cheek up against his knuckles. He remains quiet because he's not sure what to say. Minho's the one that called him, anyway — if he wants to talk, he should start.

So he does, clearly taking Jisung's silence as a sign that the younger isn't interested in leading. "Are you mad at me?"

Jisung's stomach stirs with something more uncomfortable than butterflies. Moths, maybe. Cicadas. He shifts in his seat again, pulling his sleeves over his hands. "Why would I be mad at you?"

Minho makes a sarcastic sound with the air between his teeth. "You left class pretty quickly... and you've been ignoring me all day. Not that I expect you to talk to me all day long, or anything. You don't have to speak to me at all, if you don't want to. But it seems like you're upset with me."

Jisung shrugs a shoulder even though Minho can't see it. "Well I'm not."

Silence from Minho's end. "Really?"

"Yep."

Jisung imagines Minho rolling his eyes right about now. "Is it because of your grade?"

It's not like Jisung and Minho haven't had any arguments at all in their three months together, but they hardly ever feel like arguments. They're disagreements more than anything and they're always over something petty, but the strain Jisung feels over the phone is telling of an impending argument that he really doesn't want to have. A bout of silence passes between them, and Minho understands Jisung's silence once again. "You did really well. I don't understand why you're upset?"

Jisung rolls his eyes. "You were a student once. I imagine you know how it feels to work your ass off for something and then get a mediocre grade."

"Your grade isn't mediocre. Like I said, you did really well, Sung."

"You gave me a B! And not even a _good_ B! It may as well have been a C."

"I gave you a B because you got a couple of questions wrong."

"Are they really wrong though? Are they?" Because I don't think," Jisung tucks his phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can grab his backpack from the ground and dig through it for his folder for Minho's class. "I don't think... I think you were being kinda harsh."

"If you want to talk about it, I'm more than willing."

Jisung pulls out his exam, his anthology and his notes, and suggests that Minho do the same because he's ready to have a serious discussion about how he believes he didn't get number four wrong, or number twelve, and he deserved full points on number eighteen and not half. They have a debate about each one, and even though Jisung sees Minho's reasoning for marking him incorrect, he doesn't find it fair. He was on mostly the right track with his answers, and he still finds number eighteen to be complete bullshit because it seems so subjective. He pinches the bridge of his nose and huffs, closing his eyes.

"Anything else you want me to look at?" Minho asks, and he's probably not _trying_ to sound condescending, but the tone of his voice is vexing on Jisung's nerves.

"You don't have to be an asshole about it."

"How am I... Jisung, you got the questions wrong, so I marked them wrong. We just talked about why they're wrong."

"I get it, Minho. But would it have killed you to be a little forgiving? I mean, you studied _with_ me and you saw how hard I tried. I even stayed after class to finish it and wrote way fucking more than I had to just to make sure you'd understand and—"

"Did you think I would give you special treatment because you're my boyfriend?"

Jisung falls silent. At first, he's offended that Minho would assume that of him, but before he can open his mouth to disagree, he realizes that maybe, somewhere deep inside, he did. Of course he didn't expect him to just blindly hand him an A, and he didn't want him to. Jisung knows he's smart, and he's good at interpreting literature, and he likes that Minho knows that, too. But holy shit, maybe he just wanted Minho to have a little mercy on him if he got something a little skewed. Just once.

"No, I didn't. I don't want special treatment from you."

"So why are you pissed off at me because I gave you the grade you earned?"

"Because..."

"Because?"

Jisung drags his hand down his face.

"I've never treated you any differently from any of my other students, Ji, and you agreed that you didn't want me to. I've always graded you fairly. You did a good job and your grade reflects that. I'm sorry that it's not the grade you _wanted_ , but it wouldn't be fair of me to give you extra points for no reason."

 _For no reason?_ Jisung wants to argue. _I sucked your dick for twenty minutes last night and there's no reason for extra points?_

"You're right," he says instead. "I get it."

"You're still mad at me."

"I'm not. I really do get it." He slides his middle finger over the trackpad of his laptop to wake it up, logging back into his account so he can continue studying. "I have to finish something for another class. Exam soon."

He hears Minho sigh, but when he speaks again, his voice is soft and tender. "Good luck, even though you don't need it. You've got this."

Jisung doesn't want to smile just yet, but he relents. The corner of his mouth quirks up a bit and he rolls his eyes at the sentiment that he really does appreciate, especially from the smartest guy he knows. "Thank you."

⋯

Everyone can tell that Minho feels awkward about this, sitting up front on his desk, feet swinging idly as he reads through each covertly raunchy line of the next poem on today's schedule. Today begins their LGBT literature unit, one of the reasons that Jisung was so excited to register for this class in the first place, and while the last couple of poems have either been romantic and dreamy or heavy and haunting, this one seems to have a focus on sex and attraction. It's beautiful and thought provoking, but Minho's definitely reading to them about fucking right now. His cheeks are a cute shade of pink, and every time someone giggles, they flush brighter.

"Stop laughing," he interjects himself, trying his hardest not to laugh, too. "This is serious stuff!"

He makes it through the poem and everyone erupts in applause for how he'd endured it even though they gave him hell. His face is madly red as he bows his head and waves them off, and Jisung smiles fondly as he turns the pages in his book and tells them what page to flip to next. He asks for volunteers to read the new poem because he needs a break from the spotlight, and calls on someone to read the first few stanzas. Jisung listens on, but their voice isn't nearly as appealing as Minho's.

He lingers on his favorite couple of lines from the last poem and finds himself staring upon Minho as he considers them.

_I am only a schoolboy with a schoolboy’s hard mind._

_You are the headmaster. Now you must master me._

Last weekend, Minho had invited Jisung to read over his lesson plan for the next week and give him feedback on what he thought of the poems he'd picked out. They'd set up shop in one of the study rooms in the library, a quiet nook nestled in the corner and separated from the rest of the world by glass walls, but Jisung felt like they may as well be the only ones in the whole school. That's how he always feels when he's with Minho: like no one else matters. It might have something to do with the way that Minho gazes at him while he speaks, while he reads and while he listens. Jisung was honored that Minho sought him of all people for his literary opinion.

When he'd read that poem, he'd had to go over it a couple of times before he looked up at Minho and asked in a whisper, "Is this about sex?"

He didn't know what else _dumpling-shaped lump atop your pelvis_ or the act of _gathering the beading liquid inside of you and bringing it to light_ would describe. As he'd stared at Minho and waited for an answer, the way his skin turned a flustered hue of peach spoke volumes.

Jisung loved that. He loved how covertly the author managed to weave in their intent, and how clever it all turned out to be after the fact, once he realized what he'd just read. He loves the kind of poetry that he has to deconstruct and re-read to understand, and he knows that Minho does, too. Seeing him get shy about Jisung uncovering this poem's intent, though, had Jisung intrigued.

"Oh, wow. That's so crafty." He reached over and playfully nudged Minho in the arm. "What a cool teacher, letting us read sex poetry."

Minho laughed softly and tapped his pen absently against the table. "You're all adults, I assume you can handle it without giggling like a bunch of twelve year olds."

Jisung smiled brightly. "You would be surprised."

Minho rolled his eyes jokingly. "There's way more explicit queer poetry about sex out there. This is so tame!"

Jisung didn't mean for the tone of his voice to shift, or his body language either, when he propped his chin and innocently asked, "Like what?"

Minho blinked at him as if to silently ask, _you really want to know?_ But Jisung didn't waver, tilting his head curiously and looking down at Minho's notes, prepared to flip through them and uncover the other poems he might have considered for this unit that might be more raunchy than the one he actually wrote into his lesson plan. Minho sighed and glanced at the ceiling as he thought.

"Saeed Jones is a genius with intertwining eroticism in his poetry. Sappho, Ginsberg... god, Ginsberg especially. To this day I can't get through _Please Master_ without blushing. Even Auden has a poem that's explicitly, unapologetically about blowjobs."

Jisung raised his eyebrows, a slow, fascinated simper spreading across his mouth. "I wanna read it."

Minho raised his eyebrows, too, and covered his eyes with his hand. "Jesus, Jisung, it's so inappropriate."

The younger reached for his laptop and brought it close to him, navigating to Google. "Tell me what it's called! I wanna read the other one, too. The Ginsberg one."

"Oh my god."

"Tell me!"

He only made it through about two-thirds of the Auden poem before he turned into a tomato beneath Minho's attention, hiding his face when Minho started laughing at his reaction. Getting through the Ginsberg poem was even harder, especially with Minho sitting right next to him, and Jisung immediately understood why Minho still couldn't read the whole thing without dying a little inside.

Still, he reread it when he got home, and couldn't help the way that it made his gut churn, his toes curl, his mind and heart race. He couldn't help but think of Minho, red-faced and shy when he watched Jisung's eyes flit across his computer screen to take in every racy line. He thought of Minho underneath him, red-faced and shy while Jisung would slink down his body and recite Auden's poem on his skin, using him as a prop. He couldn't help that he jerked off that night with his teacher on his mind.

_I am only a schoolboy with a schoolboy’s hard mind._

Now, watching Minho from across the classroom, Jisung lets his pen rest on his full lower lip, taps it once, twice, and then takes it between his teeth, chewing softly on the plastic. He thinks of the Minho from his horny little daydream when he laid in bed that night, the Minho that, in some alternate universe where Jisung's teacher might actually want him back, told him to get on his knees and write his words upon him.

_You are the headmaster. Now you must master me._

Jisung closes his lips around the pen cap, sucks delicately. Feels the spit on his tongue catch around the edge of the cap. He sees Minho glance up, and instead of carrying his gaze across the entire room to assess that his students are paying attention, his eyes land directly on Jisung, as if he knows. Jisung stares back at him. His eyelids are weighted with the pressure forming in his stomach. He pulls the pen from his mouth, just enough to press the tip of his tongue to the rim of it and take it back in between his teeth. Minho blinks once.

_Please Master push my shoulders away and stare into my eyes, & make me bend over the table._

Jisung thinks he must be in that alternate universe, because Minho won't look away. The expression on his face is vacant, but pressing. Jisung has spent the last few weeks trying to flirt with Minho like everyone else does with dreams of a kiss, a touch, a rough fucking over a desk. And as Minho watches him suck on the cap of his pen, Jisung thinks Minho might have similar dreams. Jisung's mouth quirks up into a slight smile.

Minho's does too, a flash of a smirk, before he looks back down at his book.

_please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please._

⋯

Jisung lifts his arms above his head so Minho can tug his shirt off, toss it off the side of the bed and let his palms gravitate to Jisung's waist. It's the last piece of clothing separating his body from Minho's, and when Jisung leans down to kiss him, it's wet, wanton, wanting. They've been together for months, have learned the language of each other's bodies and all of the things that makes the other tick, and yet when Minho touches Jisung's bare body he feels like he's being taken apart for the very first time, all over again.

The lights are out and the pale glow of the moon outside of the window offers just enough light to let Jisung see the contours of Minho beneath him, the lines of his chest and the way his lips are parted, shallow breaths leaving them and slipping into Jisung's greedy mouth. Jisung's kisses gravitate to Minho's jaw, peppering along the sharp cut of it before they travel to his neck, biting at the tender skin of a hickey half-started. The arid moan Minho lets out goes straight to Jisung's core.

Jisung's tongue traces the shape of Minho's chest, flicks over each nipple and his lips suction down while his hands cup and squeeze. He wants to look up and see how Minho lets his long eyelashes flutter, tips his head back against the pillow and licks his lips, but he lets himself get lost in the feeling of Minho's nipple in his mouth and his hard cock up against his own.

Of all the times he wondered what Minho was hiding beneath his posh work clothes, Jisung never would have imagined the reality of his body. His broad chest, his thick, strong thighs, his slim waist and firm ass. He's a wet dream come true, and nothing in the world could have prepared Jisung for it. He was especially unprepared for what's between his legs. Jisung is a lucky, lucky boy.

His mouth waters with the want to suck him off, something he desires so often these days that he's developed an appetite for it. He reaches down to palm over Minho's cock and stroke him off teasingly, but Minho's hands on his hips take control and roll them over so that Jisung is the one on his back and Minho is settled between his legs. The older man leans down to capture Jisung's mouth in a collision of tongues and spit. Jisung moans around the wet sound of their lips sliding against each other. He didn't realize how much he loves kissing until he started kissing Minho.

"Minho," he sighs as his lover drags his lips down his skinny little body, nipping and sucking at his skin here and there. Jisung looks down at him with his lip caught between his teeth and brings both of his hands into Minho's hair, curling his fingers into it. Minho's warm breath billows over Jisung's belly button, then his hip bones, then his inner thighs. He latches onto the soft skin of his thigh to suck in a mark and blindly reaches for the bottle of lube strewn off to the side for whenever they reached this point.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," Minho murmurs, meeting Jisung's eyes. He pops the cap of the bottle and squeezes some of the gel onto his fingers, then re-caps it and pushes the bottle away. He spreads Jisung’s thighs further open, and soon enough he's taking the head of Jisung's cock into his mouth while one of his fingertips circles his rim. Jisung sucks in a sharp breath and arches his back at all of the sensations: the cold lube, Minho's hot mouth, his finger pushing past the ring of muscle.

Jisung disintegrates into the bed sheets as Minho bobs his head while he massages Jisung from the inside, fingers scissoring apart and rubbing against him so leisurely, gingerly, like there's all the time in the world. Trying to keep his hips pinned to the bed, Jisung moans obscenely as everything starts to feel almost unbearably good, igniting every vein in his body and turning his limbs to jelly. Minho releases Jisung's cock with a slick sound just so he can tongue over his slit, making Jisung shiver violently.

Countless mind-numbing minutes pass before Jisung's chest starts heaving from an impending orgasm that he doesn't want just yet. He tugs on Minho's hair, whimpering and trying to let his clumsy knees come together to close his legs even though Minho's still between them. Minho has four of his fingers inside of Jisung and his lips are practically cherry red when he lets go of Jisung's dick, swollen from the work he's put into dismantling him. Jisung can see how dilated his pupils are even in the dim light.

"Mm, baby, please," Jisung whines, combing Minho's hair out of his face, "want you inside of me."

A groan reverberates deep in Minho's chest as he crawls up to be eye level with Jisung, slipping his fingers out so he can grab a condom from the strip on the bedside table. He goes to open it up but Jisung takes it from him with shaky hands, ripping the foil open and pulling the rubber from it. He keeps his eyes on Minho’s as he reaches down, taking the base of Minho's cock with one hand and slowly rolling the condom onto him with the other. He glances down to make sure it's on properly, and then rests his hands by the sides of his head, completely giving himself up for his lover to do as he pleases. Minho looks at him like he's the most precious thing he's ever laid eyes on — and, at the same time, like he wants to ravage him.

"Fuck me," Jisung whispers. He opens his legs wide, his honey body glistening with a slight sheen of sweat.

Minho takes hold of his cock and guides it into Jisung, their gazes unwavering. He slides his free hand into Jisung's and laces their fingers together. As he pushes in all the way, Jisung squeezes his hand tightly and grips onto the pillow beneath his head. Minho dives in to connect their lips in a slow, filthy kiss.

Minho begins driving his hips forward and back, fucking in and out of Jisung to a slow and steady beat. He reaches behind him to grab the sheet and pulls it up over them before he laces the fingers of their other hands together, and with his forehead pressed to Jisung's, they're completely intertwined. They fit together perfectly, like a key and a lock.

In the dark, all of Jisung's senses feel heightened. The sound of their huffing breaths and lewd moans fills his head, the slide of Minho's body on top of his is almost white hot, and it feels like he can feel the curve of Minho's dick inside of him, the outline of every vein, the head pushing against his gut with every thrust. He feels so _good_.

When Minho lets go of Jisung's hands so he can move onto his knees and rest his elbows on either side of him, Jisung wraps his arms around Minho's neck and braces himself for the increase in pace that comes. Skin slaps against skin obscenely loud and makes Jisung moan out even louder. Jisung is nearly folded in half, his knees up near his shoulders and his toes curled tightly, enduring the rapidfire beating of Minho's cock inside of him. His eyes are squeezed closed, and Minho's sweet groans are music to his ears.

"You feel so fucking good, Jisung," Minho growls, the sheet having fallen with the change in angle, leaving them exposed. Jisung tries to open his eyes, admiring the image of his sweaty, muscled boyfriend pounding into him like it's his job. Minho smirks when they make eye contact, digging the pads of his fingers into the flesh of Jisung's thin thighs. "Like you were made for me. This tight little hole made just for my cock. Is that right?"

Jisung nods frantically, crying out when the head of Minho's dick slides over his prostate on it's way out on a particular thrust. "Yes, yes, _fuck yes_ , j-just for you, Minho!"

"My pretty, stuffed baby. 'M just for you."

"Just for m-m-me, for me."

Some rough handling of Jisung's body reorients him so that he's on his knees, head resting on the bed while Minho drives into him from behind, the clap of their thighs and Minho's hips against Jisung's ass so delicious. Minho leans down to press his chest to Jisung's back, fucking him at an even deeper, sharper angle that steals Jisung's breath right out of his lungs. The younger man reaches beneath himself to fist his own cock, working it quickly and panting between long, dirty whines.

Minho puts his lips to Jisung's ear, grinding up against his prostate in slow, dizzying circles. "I h-hope when you think about how good you feel right now, you remember why. It's because of _me._ " He starts moving his hips again. " _Fuck_ , y-you're incredible."

Jisung doesn't have any other sexual partners to compare Minho to, but he knows that Minho is special. Jisung has never felt so good, so taken care of, so prized. And that transcends moments like this where he's entangled with Minho and getting fucked so silly that he can't think straight. He feels it when they curl up on the sofa together, when they cook together, when they stare at each other from across the room and when they go on walks. Minho makes him feel so safe, brilliant, beautiful. There isn't a moment of the day that Jisung isn't thankful for Minho beside him, and if he's not beside him, he's a text or a call away and he'll come running. There's never been anyone like Minho, and Jisung doesn't know how to process that.

In that moment, Jisung is overwhelmed with emotion. As Minho fucks him closer and closer to the peak, his eyes well up with tears and he grips the sheets beneath him with white knuckles. He sobs, trembles with it, and before he can stop himself, brain so cloudy with pleasure and fear and passion, he blurts out, "I l-love you."

He's only able to keep his eyes open for another second before he's wailing with the impact of his orgasm, stroking himself to completion while Minho tries to maintain his composure. In the split second that he did get to see Minho's face before the wave hit him, he saw something different on his face. Eyes wide, jaw slack. Like he'd seen a ghost.

He's never seen Minho look at him like that.

Jisung doesn't have the capacity to think about it while Minho is still thrashing into him, working himself to his own high. He grips Jisung's hips hard enough that it hurts, spilling into the condom with a long groan and a series of shudders. When he finishes emptying into Jisung it's silent, just heavy breathing and the distant beating of music in the unit beneath them. Jisung tries to steady his breathing, eyes still closed and his cheek squished up against the mattress. His head feels too heavy to lift up.

He feels the brush of Minho's lips over his shoulder. "I'm gonna pull out," he murmurs, and Jisung nods as much as he can manage. He whimpers at the feeling of Minho's dick sliding out of him, and feels himself clench around nothing once he's gone. The bed dips and he registers that Minho's left the room, presumably to dump his condom and get a damp towel from the bathroom like he does every time they finish having sex. The room feels eerily empty. Lonely.

It's in that moment that Jisung realizes what he did.

He can't open his eyes. If he does, he'll face the reality of his mistake. He'll have to see that look on Minho's face again, even though he doesn't think the image of it will ever leave his mind. Jisung lets his lower half drop onto the bed and curls up into a ball, trying not to let out the tears that are burning his corneas, or the sob that's making his chest burn, too. He hears Minho come back into the room and his partner starts cleaning him off dutifully, but they're both quiet as he does. Jisung's too embarrassed to say anything, not even _thank you_.

Minho didn't say it back. Jisung is glad.

⋯

Jisung presses his palm to the cold glass of the big window that overlooks the village they're staying in and watches the snow fall down like powder. It covers the houses and trees in a thin blanket of white, sparkling in the morning sunlight, and Jisung thinks to grab his phone and take some pictures. It's the first snow of the winter, and seeing it fall over Jeju feels magical, like he's at the apex of wonder, standing at the most enchanted point of the world. When Minho steps up behind him and wraps his arms around Jisung's waist, the feeling only solidifies.

"Good morning, sunshine," Minho rasps, his body so warm around Jisung's. Last night was the first of two weeks worth in their AirBnB, booked to spend their winter break together as far away from anyone and anything that could inhibit their happiness. There's nowhere else Jisung would rather be than right here in Minho's arms, half-naked, sated, and watching the first snow together.

"Good morning, baby," Jisung looks over his shoulder at his boyfriend, pouting his lips for a sweet, soft greeting kiss. Minho's lips taste like toothpaste and chapstick. Jisung brings a hand up to rest on his cheek, thumbing over his skin. Their noses brush.

Minho hooks his chin over Jisung's shoulder and gazes out of the window while Jisung gazes at him. The bright white of the village reflects in his big brown eyes, and Jisung has to press a fond kiss to his temple. "What's on the agenda today?" Minho asks. There's so much they want to do, Jisung's not even sure where they should start. But they have plenty of time to get it all done, and no one to tell them they can't. Jisung's entire body buzzes with excitement.

The end of the semester marked the end of their class together, and Jisung doesn't have Minho for the upcoming period. Knowing that he's probably going to see him less throughout the week means that this vacation is extra special, and it's extra crucial that they make the most of it. Jisung isn't sure if no longer having class together will lighten or increase the tension that the circumstances of their relationship put on their dynamic. If Jisung isn't Minho's student anymore, will things become less confined? Will Jisung be able to take this warm, unrestricted feeling and wear it proudly like he's always wanted to?

Jisung rests his head against Minho's and basks in his light. He doesn't want this feeling to end. "I'm up for anything," he says, scratching lightly at Minho's scalp through his bedhead. "Just like spending time with you."

⋯

Jisung attaches to the end of the line that leads to the cash register of the campus cafe. It's the second Monday of the semester so it makes sense that it's so busy; Jisung just hopes he can get his boost of caffeine with enough time to get to his next class in about twenty minutes. He'd like to grab a quick snack from the vending machine, too, but it's a little out of the way, so he might have to forgo it and wait until dinner to eat. The beginning of the term is always the hardest, trying to figure out his schedule and where everything is and exactly how long it will take to get from one place to another. He's been skipping meals for the past few days out of anxiety, and he's more than ready for this feeling to pass.

He pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans and skims through all of the notification banners on the screen: emails from stores about promotions, his calendar reminding him that he already has a quiz in his history lecture tomorrow, some texts in his group chat with Seungmin, Felix, and Hyunjin. They're all having just as bad of a time as he is so that's comforting in a way, knowing that they're all at least suffering together. He sends an _I love you guys_ to the chat and smiles to himself when Felix almost immediately sends back _I love you too, Sungie_.

Jisung moves forward with the flow of the line and navigates to his chat with Minho, not necessarily expecting anything to be waiting for him but still disappointed. The last activity is from last night, when Jisung had told him goodnight. Minho hadn't responded. The last time Minho said anything was earlier in the day to tell Jisung that he didn't see his cardigan in his apartment but would check the laundry later. Truthfully, Jisung had only asked him of the whereabouts of his stupid sweater to get some kind of conversation out of Minho, since his other attempts over the last few days were fruitless.

Jisung figures that he's just been busy, way more busy than Jisung is, considering he's teaching two more classes than he was last semester — an extra here and another at his other university, and the workload must be intense. Jisung can't imagine the stress that comes with putting together so many lesson plans, learning so many names, traveling so much. For that reason he's been trying not to let his feelings get hurt over this, but it's undeniable that he misses Minho.

His thumbs hover over his keyboard with the want to text him again, just a gentle wish to have a good day, or maybe to let him know that he misses him. He types out the beginning of a message but ends up erasing it, locking his phone and sliding it back into his pocket. The last thing Minho probably wants is Jisung bothering him. Jisung folds his arms warmly over his chest and moves forward to finally place his order at the counter.

Their chat remains quiet for the rest of the day, and Jisung distracts himself from the itch to reach out by meeting up with Seungmin at the library. They stay there until they're the only ones left besides the librarians, all of their shit strewn out on a table along with take out containers and more coffee. By the time they're cleaning up their mess and packing their backpacks to leave, Jisung's phone buzzes on the table. He grabs it and brings it with him to pitch his trash in the bin, and finds texts from Minho looking back at him.  
  


**minho** 💕💞💗 [10:22PM]: Hi

 **minho** 💕💞💗 [10:22PM]: Are you busy?  
  


Jisung purses his lips and sets his phone back on the table while he pulls on his coat and backpack. When he picks it back up he rereads the two simple lines over and over while he tries to decide how to reply. Seungmin steps beside him and Jisung doesn't even think to pull away or hide his phone. Seungmin knows who Minho is — since Minho's not his teacher anymore, Jisung assumed it was fine to let his other friends know a little more about the relationship he's been keeping under lock and key for the last five months. Seungmin had said that he kind of thought that might be what it was; the only reason someone would be so secretive about their relationship is if they're 'fucking their teacher, a criminal, or their cousin' in his words.

He's glad that Seungmin is here for this, because he genuinely doesn't know what to do in this situation. He's hurt, but he misses Minho so much that he's willing to look past it for now, even if that's stupid. He glances at Seungmin who glances at him, and Jisung starts to lead him toward the doors out of the library.

"Trouble in paradise?" Seungmin asks, pushing open the door and holding it for Jisung.

"It... I don't know. Everything feels so weird lately."

Seungmin frowns, stuffing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. "Weird how?"

"Weird like... I don't know. Like he doesn't have time for me anymore. Which I get. I just... I don't know."

Seungmin nods towards his phone, alluding to the text message he still hasn't answered. "Seems like he's making time right now, though."

That's true. Leave it to Seungmin to show Jisung he's being stupid with a simple statement of the obvious. Jisung huffs and unlocks his phone, then types back a reply.

 **me** [10:26PM]: leaving the library, going home

 **me** [10:26PM]: are you busy?

 **minho** 💕💞💗 [10:27PM]: Do you want to come by?  
  


Jisung shows the screen to Seungmin who smiles brightly and playfully pushes Jisung in the arm, nearly making him trip over his pigeon-toed feet. Jisung can't help but smile, too. This is exactly what he wanted, and he only had to be a little bit of a baby about it to get it.

"There you go! Dick appointment," Seungmin says, pulling his car keys out of his pocket and starting to veer off in the direction of wherever he's parked. "Peace is restored."

When Jisung gets to Minho's place, a specific kind of anxiety that he hasn't felt in a long time sits on his chest like a rock. He stands outside of the door for a long minute while he gets himself together, and then he knocks on the door even though he knows the code. He hears the sound of Minho walking across the floor and his heart starts beating harder. Minho pulls the door open and Jisung's eyes light up like it's Christmas Day.

He's still dressed in his work clothes, jeans and a cozy-looking brown henley tucked in. He looks tired behind the lenses of his glasses, but he smiles at Jisung and leans his head against the door frame.

"Hi, you," Minho says, and Jisung hates how it gives him hope. He hates that Minho is greeting him like he hasn't been ignoring him for the past week. More than anything, he hates that he allows him to.

"Hi," Jisung responds, grinning faintly. He slips into the apartment when Minho steps aside, and once the door is closed behind them, he kicks off his sneakers and hangs his coat up on the rack. He turns to Minho who's leaning back against the door, and against his better judgement, Jisung closes the space between them to wind his arms around his boyfriend's torso and bury his face into his neck. Minho's shoulders feel rigid, like he's holding all of his stress in them.

Minho holds him for a long while. Jisung doesn't know what to say, or if he should say anything at all and risk ruining the familiarity they're basking in right now. Minho rubs gently at his back, and with his nose buried in Jisung's blonde hair, he murmurs, "Missed you."

Jisung grips the back of Minho's sweater and closes his eyes. "Missed you, too," he whispers. Minho pulls away a little and brings a finger beneath Jisung's chin, lifting it so he can look at him. Jisung knows his eyes are misty but he hopes that Minho won't comment on it even though he looks like he wants to.

"Can I kiss you?" Minho asks even though their mouths are already so close that Jisung can feel his warm breath on his skin. Jisung blinks the mist out of his eyes and nods, letting his lashes flutter closed again when their mouths meet. It's slow, apprehensive and dithering until it isn't. Jisung isn't sure whose tongue enters the mix first, but then it's all tongue and soft moans, Minho's hands sliding beneath Jisung's shirt and Jisung's fingers fumbling with the button of Minho's jeans. With Minho's mouth on his neck, Jisung clings onto the sensation of mattering.

⋯

_or if your wish be to close me,i and_

_my life will shut very beautifully,suddenly,_

_as when the heart of this flower imagines_

_the snow carefully everywhere descending;_

⋯

The heavy bass echoing through Jisung's skeletal system combined with the haze of alcohol and marijuana in his head makes Jisung feel a little nauseous. He's leaning heavily against Hyunjin's back even though Hyunjin is currently all over Changbin, making out with him like no one else is around. Jisung has gotten so used to the constant movement of Hyunjin's back that he'd stopped registering it for a while, but as the nausea seeps in, it feels like being rocked on the ocean. He braces himself and swings his legs off of the arm of the sofa so he can sit upright, then stands up using Hyunjin's thigh for leverage. He sways a little.

He didn't think he'd been drinking that much, but as he pushes through the crowd with a dizzy head and an increasing need to pee, he remembers all of the shots he'd done with his friends when they pregamed, let alone the couple of drinks he's had since they arrived here. He doesn't even _like_ liquor. He didn't want to come tonight. But he'd let his friends convince him that getting out of bed (his 'depression cave' as Felix had started calling it) and letting loose at whoever's party this is would do him some good. It _has_ been doing him some good, in all fairness; he's been having fun, he likes dancing, and he likes being with his friends. He likes that the loud music and inebriation has been keeping his mind off of Minho.

Jisung asks a random girl if she knows where the bathroom is, and she says she doesn't, so he asks someone else who also doesn't know. He doesn't even know whose house he's at, and he wonders if they know, either. He finds his way to the staircase and holds onto the banister, reaching out to the first person that crosses paths with him there. Jisung gently grips onto their sleeve to get their attention, and when they turn around Jisung has to look up at them to meet their eyes. The guy looks vaguely familiar, like Jisung might know him from somewhere, but Jisung doesn't have the capacity to try to think about where at the moment. He needs to piss.

"Do you..." he hiccups and covers his mouth with his hand as though he might spew vomit, or something. "Do you know where the bathroom is?"

The guy has kind, droopy eyes and a sweet, dopey smile that tells Jisung he's been drinking, too. He's got more composure than Jisung does, though, so he's probably a drink or two behind Jisung's current state. Jisung squints up at him because the desire to pinpoint where this guy is from is going to drive him crazy.

"You were on the right track. It's upstairs," the guy says, pointing up the staircase. Jisung is still clutching the guy's sleeve, and that makes the stranger laugh. "You want me to show you?"

Jisung nods. "Yeah, please."

He lets himself be guided up the stairs, mindful not to trip over his clumsy feet. He's brought to a door near the end of the hallway where there's a few couples kissing in corners and someone smoking a joint while fucking around on their phone. The guy he's still holding onto opens the door for him and flips on the light, and to Jisung's delight, it's a well-lit, clean-looking bathroom. He sighs in relief.

"Thank you so much," he says, finally releasing the stranger's leather jacket and walking inside.

"Sure," the guy reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a lighter and something else, leaning his back against the wall outside of the bathroom. "I'll walk you back down if you need me to."

Jisung plans to drink so much water from the tap in this bathroom that he hopefully won't need help navigating the stairs, but he's thankful for the offer. He closes the door and goes to the sink, gripping the edge of it and closing his eyes for a long moment, long enough to bring back his wandering mind and ground himself. When he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees huge pupils and slightly smudged eye makeup, pink cheeks and mussed blonde hair. His big denim jacket is hanging off of his shoulder and the collar of his t-shirt is a bit stretched out, probably from dancing. He's a little sweaty. The more he looks at himself, the grosser he feels.

He dumps the remainder of the vodka in his Solo cup and turns on the tap, filling it with cold water. He drinks it down pretty quickly and refills it, gets halfway through and then remembers how much he has to pee, so he sets the cup down to take care of his business at the toilet. When he finishes he washes his hands, grabs his cup, and sits down on the tile floor with his back against the bathtub. He sprawls his legs out in front of him.

He feels, in this moment, like he might be the loneliest boy there is, the biggest failure, the saddest excuse for a person that's ever existed. His broken heart is throbbing in his chest, beating against his sternum.

He starts to cry. He's been so good at wearing the mask tonight, the one that says he's fine and nothing is wrong and everything will continue like nothing ever happened. But sitting here alone in the bathroom at a party he doesn't belong at, he's got no one to present the mask to. The hardest person to fool has been himself.

Jisung draws his knees up to this chest and hugs them, burying his face in the material of his jeans. He doesn't understand how he could go from feeling the happiest he's ever felt — to this. He doesn't understand what he did wrong.

There's a knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, you okay in there?" It's that guy again, and Jisung can't believe he's really still there. He can't stop crying long enough to get an answer out, and then the door is opening, that familiar face popping in with worry all over his features. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that Jisung isn’t passed out or dead or throwing up. But the worry comes back once he realizes Jisung's crying.

"What—what's wrong? Why are you crying?" He slips into the room and presses the bathroom door closed. Jisung looks away from him as another round of tears wells up, and he hides his face in his knees again. He sobs quietly.

He registers that the guy is sitting down beside him, having to fold up his long, lanky body to fit in the small space between Jisung and the wall. He's silent and Jisung can feel his eyes on him, and knows that this guy probably has no idea how to console him or what to do, probably didn't expect to be in this situation tonight but Jisung's no one if not full of surprises.

"What's wrong?" he asks again, resting a big, unsure hand on Jisung's back. It's comforting and heavy and Jisung likes the pressure. His tipsy mind races, trying to consider if it's a good idea or not to unload his issues onto this innocent stranger, but the dude's practically offering. Jisung cries harder from the conflict, and the guy rubs circles into his back.

"My boyfriend broke up with me," he slurs, scrubbing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. He gets eyeliner and the shimmer from his eyeshadow on them. "And I feel so fucking stupid."

The guy frowns. "Hey, fuck him. He's the one that should feel stupid. I'm sure he _does_ feel stupid."

"No, _I'm_ stupid. I fucking... I fucking _loved him_ a-and he _dumped me_. I wasted so much f-fucking time."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that he did that. Seriously, fuck him."

Jisung sniffles grossly. "I-I was a good boyfriend. I was, like, the b-best boyfriend ever."

The guy laughs a little. "I'm sure you were."

"It's not funny," Jisung whines, picking up his cup and taking a drink from it.

"It's not." Stranger shakes his head. "There's like, millions of other guys in the world, though. You don't need him."

Jisung is quiet as he stares down into his cup, hands wrapped around it.

"Am I right?"

Jisung nods. "I guess so."

Jisung knows that even if he's right, he's still going to cry about this when he gets home, and tomorrow, and the next day, too. He doesn't know how long it's going to take to heal from this. He's never gone through this before.

They sit in silence that's as comfortable as silence between two complete strangers can be. Jisung finishes his water and sets his cup down on the ground, then looks over at his company. He's undeniably handsome, broad and makes Jisung feel especially miniature, but he still doesn't know where he recognizes him from. "What's your name?" he asks, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"Yunho," he replies, meeting Jisung's eyes. Jisung squints as puzzle pieces try to fit themselves together in his head.

"Did we have class together?"

Yunho nods, a little grin on his mouth. "We did."

Jisung gasps, playfully smacking a hand down on Yunho's thigh. "Which one!"

"Modern Lit, I think? Dr. Lee."

Jisung's pleased smile falls as the puzzle pieces finally come together, but there's an extra one that he didn't account for. He tries to pick the smile back up, though, and nods in agreement. "Right. I don't... remember a whole lot from that class. But you looked really familiar."

"It's Ji...seok? Jiseok?"

Jisung's smile becomes genuine again. "Jisung."

He's not sure how long they spend sitting on that cold bathroom floor, but it's long enough for Jisung's head to feel clearer and his legs less weak and wobbly. He's still got a happy buzz flowing through his veins, and he kind of wants to go down to the kitchen and grab another drink. He'll pace himself this time; he hates the feeling of being so drunk that he's not in control.

"Thank you for sitting with me," Jisung says to Yunho when they're outside of the bathroom. He tips his head to look up at him. "That was really nice of you. You're nice."

Yunho's smile is cute. He starts toward the stairs, Jisung's fingers clutching his sleeve like he had earlier but this time to keep from losing him in the ocean of drunk college students that's formed upstairs since they've been gone and not to keep himself upright. "You're too nice to sit on the bathroom floor alone."

Jisung smiles to himself, biting down on his lip as he watches his step while they descend the stairs. When they get to the bottom he meets Yunho's eyes again. The shape of them is pretty, and the way that he looks at Jisung makes him feel good. Good in a way he hasn't felt in a while.

Jisung isn't sure if he wants another drink, or if he wants Yunho. He thinks for a few seconds and then decides to go for it, thankful for the alcohol that keeps Shy Jisung at bay. Fun Jisung, the one that needs stimulation and a good time and someone to make him feel like he's _significant_ for a minute, has his hands on the reins now, and the reins are in the form of Yunho's bicep, firm beneath his leather jacket.

"Do you wanna make out?"

Yunho seems surprised by the proposal, but amused. He leans against the wall beside the stairs and licks his lips, drawing Jisung's eyes to them. Yeah. He wants Yunho. "Yeah, I do."

Jisung beams, stepping up closer to him and draping his arms around his shoulders. "Awesome," he giggles, getting on his tiptoes so he can press an inviting kiss to Yunho's mouth.

Jisung gets lost in the feeling of Yunho's tongue down his throat, his hands gripping all over Jisung's tiny body, and the knowledge that they're around so many people, that anyone can look at them and see them being involved with each other like this. He's never had this before. Yunho's not his boyfriend, and they'll probably never do this again, but the sensation is intoxicating. He takes hold of one of Yunho's wrists and guides his hand down to his ass.

He hears Yunho ask if he wants to get out of here, and he hears himself say yes. He lets Yunho guide him out of the house and to his car, which Responsible Jisung knows is a horrible idea considering they've both been under the influence, but Fun Jisung is still in control and desperate for a distraction. He at least listens to Responsible Jisung long enough to send a text to the group chat telling them he's leaving and who with. If he dies, at least they'll know who the culprit is.

Yunho gets them to his apartment in one piece, and the trip from his front door to his bedroom is a blur of hands, lips, shedded clothes. Jisung drops to his knees and sizes up the dick in front of his face, considering if he can do it and if he even remembers how. It's only been a couple of weeks so he shouldn't have _forgotten_ how to give head, but Minho's the only one he's ever given it to. Now's a horrible time to get insecure about whether Minho really ever enjoyed it or if he was just helplessly biased. Still, Jisung takes Yunho into his mouth and does his best.

Jisung likes getting fucked while he's on his knees, likes having his hair pulled from behind while he gets slammed into. Minho always gave it to him exactly how he wanted it without even having to be asked, instructed, coached. With Yunho behind him, doing the things that Minho used to do, it's easy to pretend it's Minho behind him. Minho's hand threaded in his hair, his thick thighs slapping against him, his cock stretching him open. He imagines Minho's face all screwed up, his dark hair in his eyes and his jaw slack, cute teeth, sweat on his body. Yunho's moans are too deep to be Minho's, but Jisung holds onto the vision. When he cums it's with Minho's name on his lips, crying into the duvet and letting himself be used.

He wakes up in the middle of the night facing Yunho's naked back. His imminent hangover makes his head throb as he pulls himself up and out of the bed, trying to move soundlessly through the room. He pulls on his jeans and his t-shirt, shrugs on his jacket, and searches for his shoes. Jisung's never had a one night stand before, but he's pretty sure you aren't supposed to stick around after. He has half a mind to feel bad about it, and glances back at Yunho's sleeping form before he leaves.

He sits on the curb in front of the apartment building and calls all of his friends until one of them picks up. It can't be earlier than four in the morning, and Hyunjin sounds like he was dead asleep when he answers. Jisung tells him where he is and Hyunjin stays on the line with him while he drives to get him. Once Jisung is in the passenger seat and Hyunjin's carting them back home, he curls into himself and starts to cry again. Much harder than before.

⋯

The worst part of being a literature major, even worse than the endless papers and the cost of massive literature anthologies, is presenting original work to the class. Jisung's had to do this for so many classes already and it never gets any easier. He takes a breath, standing at the front of his Modern Literature class, and looks over the class as they settle. He tries to tell himself that no one's really going to be paying attention anyway since everyone's too anxious for their own presentations, but the most important member of the audience is seated in the back row of desks and watching him intently. If anyone's going to listen to what he's about to say, it's Minho. And that makes this all simultaneously better and worse.

He's been keeping this poem a secret surprisingly well considering he tells Minho just about every thought that crosses his mind. He's spent so many nights reworking each line, exchanging words for better ones, reciting it to his mirror to hear how it sounds, and he's excited to finally let him hear it. It's for him, and Jisung is finally sure about what he's laid out on the paper. Sure about how he feels.

Minho smiles at him softly, encouraging him to begin whenever he's ready. He's sitting comfortably in his chair, one leg draped over the other, and he's writing something in his notebook where he's been keeping everyone's scores and comments so far. Jisung feels good. Confident. He takes another breath.

"My name is Han Jisung," he introduces himself, licking his chapped lips, "and my final piece is called 'Close.'"

He begins to read his work aloud, remembering to project because he knows his voice can be kind of quiet, especially when he's in the spotlight. He reminds himself to look up every so often, make eye contact with someone in the audience until it feels awkward, then look back down and do it again. He can't help that his eyes keep going to Minho.

_I'm not used to this, babe,_

_no matter what I say;_

_why am I like this?_

_My heart is trembling, babe,_

_even if I try to be calm._

Jisung wrote many drafts of this, rearranged it a thousand times, rethought his metaphors and stretched his similes. It's a poem of desire. Not of the sexual kind, but of curiosity, of infatuation, of wanting to know someone better because he felt a pull toward them, wanting to be drawn close. Of facing feelings he's never felt before, of seeking comfort and safety. Of a heart growing warm under the sun of spring. Of falling in love.

_You, shining among countless people,_

_Little by little it gets clearer_

_and now it's only you._

Jisung's voice starts to shake a little toward the end, and starts to soften, too, but he keeps his momentum and finishes strongly enough. He bows his head as his classmates clap for him and offers a quiet _thank you._ He heads back to his seat and glances at Minho on his way, but Minho doesn't look back at him. Jisung's heart sits heavily in his ribcage.

He slides back into his seat and waits for some kind of comment, not the generic, "great job, thank you for sharing," that he gives everyone else. But that's exactly what he gets.

"That was great, Jisung. Thank you for sharing," Minho says, shuffling his papers. "Next is... Ryujin."

Jisung stares at a spot on his desk, furrowing his eyebrows and holding his breath.

⋯

"I remember practicing how to ask you out in the mirror," Minho admits, smiling down at his cup of coffee. Jisung raises his eyebrows, a bright smile spreading across his own face. "I didn't know how to do it. I was so nervous."

Jisung nudges Minho's leg with his foot, then locks his ankles around it. "I made you nervous?"

Minho rolls his eyes, but in an ugly, silly way that makes Jisung laugh. "I guess you could say that. I just... thought you were amazing. I _think_ you're amazing. And beautiful. You're so damn beautiful it's ridiculous."

Jisung pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his hands and presses his palms to his overheating cheeks. He doesn't even know what to say. All he can do is, as Minho would say, _blush like a rose._

"It's so crazy to think that just a few weeks ago I was so nervous to say hi to you at the cafe and now you're in my apartment, having breakfast with me, wearing my clothes." Minho shakes his head like he can't believe it, bringing his mug to his lips. "That sweater has never looked so good."

Jisung whines, pushing at his eggs with his fork. "I beg to differ. You wore this on the first day of class and all I could think about was how handsome you looked."

Minho copies Jisung's whine, muffled by the ceramic of his cup. Jisung giggles and when he looks up at him, he sees a flush of color across his cheeks. Making Minho flustered has quickly become one of Jisung's favorite pastimes.

"Who's blushing like a rose now?" He teases, reaching across the table to rest his hand on Minho's arm.

Minho grins mischievously, leaning over their plates to steal a quick kiss. "Still you."

The morning sun casts an amber glow over Minho's tiny kitchen, Jisung is warm, and he is happy.

⋯

Jisung knew he shouldn't have come here. He should have stayed at home, should have texted first to see if it was worth it, should have asked someone else to do this for him. He didn't expect it to be such a big fucking deal, but everything seems to be a big deal lately, or not enough of a deal at all. He doesn't know when things got this hard.

"It's just a goddamn letter of recommendation," Jisung bites, voice louder than intended but he's so fed up with having arguments like this that he doesn't know how to hold it in anymore. "I get that you're so fucking busy, but I didn't think it would be the end of the world for you to set aside an hour of your time for me. Sorry I asked."

They're in Minho's living room, Jisung standing now after pulling himself away from where he'd been snuggled up to Minho's side, watching him work on his computer. Minho was barely even paying attention to him, but he didn't shrug Jisung off or tell him he wanted to be alone. Jisung counted that as a win.

"You really think that's what this is about, Jisung? If I didn't want to I would just tell you that. It's got nothing to do with what I want. I can't write you a letter of recommendation because it's a conflict of interest."

Jisung squints at Minho, perplexed. "What the fuck are you talking about? _Conflict of interest?_ "

The expression on Minho's face is incredulous, like he can't believe Jisung doesn't get it. Like Jisung's stupid. He closes his laptop and pushes it away, taking his glasses off and coming both hands through his hair.

"How appropriate and fair does it sound to you for me to write my boyfriend a letter of recommendation?"

Jisung rolls his eyes because he can't believe they're about to have this talk again. "For fuck's sake, Minho, you're not my teacher anymore! What—"

"But I was. That's why you're asking me for a letter, right? So whether or not I am or am not or was or wasn't your professor is pretty god damn relevant, Jisung. So don't roll your eyes at me like a child."

"I'm not a child."

"Then don't act like one."

Jisung feels his hands starting to tremble a little. "Why have you been treating me like this? I can't even talk to you or ask you a simple question without you acting like I'm the biggest burden of your life. What did I do?"

Minho is quiet, leaning against the back of his sofa with his eyes closed, jaw tense. Jisung starts to get angry. "I asked you a fucking question, Minh—"

"I don't think we should do this anymore."

Jisung stops in his tracks, staring at Minho. The shock steals the air right out of lungs. The rage on his face turns to dread. He can't seem to get any oxygen through his parted lips. "W-what?"

"We can't keep this up," Minho says, voice unnervingly even. If it weren't for the glassy look in his eyes, Jisung would think he's got it all together. But he seems like he's just as near to breaking as Jisung is. "It isn't going to get any easier, Jisung. What we have right now, it's never going to be normal. We're never going to be normal like this."

"Like what?"

"You _know_ what. Our history. The circumstances. The fucking... power imbalance. We have to stop doing this."

"I don't... I don't get what you mean. We've made it work this far—"

"Things have been falling apart. I know you know that."

Jisung's eyes sting. "So instead of trying to fix this you opted to treat me like shit."

Minho sits up, resting his hands on his knees. He watches Jisung who's almost visibly trembling by now. "I wasn't trying to treat you like shit, Jisung. I was trying to distance myself so that you would move on on your own. I didn't want it to come to this. I never, ever wanted this to end. Especially not like this. But I wanted you to realize that there's better for you than me."

The hot tears threatening to spill from Jisung's eyes are full of anger and panic. "Why is that up to you? I can decide what's good for me, Minho, and you were good for me. I thought... I thought we were good for each other." Jisung swipes his hand beneath his eye. "I loved you."

"You deserve a love that's unconditional, Ji. One that doesn't have restrictions and limitations. You deserve someone that can hold your hand and kiss you in public and drop the world for you. Someone that doesn't... have this unfair influence over you that I don't _want_ to have. You deserve normal, Jisung, you deserve better."

A sob racks Jisung's chest and he folds his arms tightly over it, trying to apply pressure like a weighted blanket, trying to calm himself down. "But I don't... I don't understand why we still have to have restrictions, o-or limitations. You're not my professor anymore. I th-thought it would get better when you stopped being my professor. That's not... it's not fair." He knows he sounds like a child, but he doesn’t know how else to articulate himself right now without breaking down.

"It doesn't really work like that, baby." Jisung cringes. The pet name sticks him like a needle. "As long as you were my student and we're still at the same institution... the possibility of bias is always going to be there when people draw the connection between us. Especially if I'm writing you letters of recommendation and using my influence to get you ahead. Whether or not it's fair isn't the point. I _know_ it's not fair."

Minho looks exhausted, but more than that, he looks — heartbroken. Jisung has never seen Minho cry before. He isn't crying, not yet, but his eyes look so wet and his nose and ears are so red that Jisung would be surprised if it doesn't come soon. The sight only hurts Jisung more.

"This is hard for me, too." Minho's voice shakes, and he gets up from the sofa. Jisung has started slowly pacing the living room, trying to keep his looming panic attack at bay. If he's going to have a meltdown about this, he wants it to be in the privacy of his own home and as far away from Minho as possible. He doesn't want him to know exactly how much influence he has over him.

"Was this even worth it? Was I even… were you even happy with me?” Jisung paces for another moment before he stops, staring at the ground because he can’t look at Minho yet.

"You made me so happy. I'm always going to have the happiness that you gave me and I'm never going to forget where it came from. But it was doomed from the start, Ji."

"If you knew this wasn't going to work, why did you do it? Why did you lead me on, Minho?" He stares at Minho but he can't get his eyes to focus when they're so full of tears. He doesn't push Minho away when he walks up to him, when he rests his gentle hands on Jisung's arms. Jisung covers his face with his hands and sobs into them. He lets himself be reeled into Minho's chest. "Why did you do that to me?"

"I don't... Jisung, I don't know how to answer that. I was crazy about you. I still am. I never wanted to hurt you. If we'd met under different circumstances, there's no way I would have even questioned us. I adore you, and I admire you, and I—god, Jisung, I'm so fucking sorry." His voice quiets, trailing off into a warm breath that Jisung feels in his hair.

"You promised me you would keep me safe."

"I'm trying to do what's best for both of us. What's best for _you._ I promised you that I would keep you safe and that's hard to do when I'm the one putting you the most at risk."

The silence between them is painful, heavy, melancholy. Jisung cries into Minho's shirt. Minho buries into the crook of Jisung's neck. It's too warm in his arms. It feels like Jisung is burning alive.

"Please don't do this," he pleads one more time, his voice so small and broken that it's barely audible.

Minho's voice is even softer. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I love you," Jisung says. If Minho remembers anything about Jisung, he hopes it's how much Jisung loved him. He's never felt like this before, and maybe he'll feel like this again, for someone else someday, but he doesn't want to think about that. Even if he's said it out loud a few times now and embarrassed himself every time, he knows that Minho loves him, too. Everything Jisung knows about love has come from the way that Minho has treated him, held him, respected him.

He looks up at him, a painful want in his eyes. He raises his voice as much as he can but it's still small and it's broken by another sob. "Why can't you say it back?!"

Minho looks at him and purses his lips, regarding Jisung for a long moment before he presses his lips to his forehead. "I love you."

⋯

_(i do not know what it is about you that closes_

_and opens;only something in me understands_

_the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)_

_nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands_

⋯

Jisung walks into the second day of his junior year feeling nervous, but doubtlessly excited. He's been looking forward to his first course of the day since he registered for it last term, enticed by the objectives and the schools of literature he's going to get to read into and experiment with. He'd wanted to take it last semester but it filled up before he could even think about where in his schedule it would fit. He knows it's a pretty highly coveted lecture, not only for the course content, but he hears the professor is really good, too.

Arriving to all of his classes early due to the fear of being late or getting lost causes Jisung to arrive considerably before schedule, but there are some other students already seated at desks who must face the same kind of anxiety. They're all pretty spaced out so he easily understands that none of them necessarily want table-mates, so he sets his sights on an empty seat in a corner near the window. When he gets further into the classroom, he notices someone standing at the white board, writing something on it in blue marker and reading from a notebook in his other hand.

Jisung thinks he must be the professor, but he looks so — young. He knew that he would be; that's the biggest character trait he's heard amongst the other creative writing and literature students who've taken Dr. Lee before. That, and how handsome he is. Both rumors are being confirmed right now.

Dr. Lee turns from the board when he hears Jisung come in, and offers a smile so bright and pretty that all Jisung can do is stare back at him for a moment before he snaps himself out of it and smiles back.

"Hi! Modern Literature?" The professor confirms, and Jisung nods, watching him set his notebook and marker down so he can grab from one of two neat stacks of paper on his desk. Jisung walks up to the desk and accepts the packet he's handed, titled _Modern Literature_ _Fall 2021 Syllabus_ in small, Georgia font. That's a good font. Jisung's got even higher hopes for this course now.

"I don't think I've ever had you before?" Minho hands him the other packet, a list of the texts they'll be reading this semester. “I haven’t been here very long but I’m finally starting to learn some faces.”

"No, this is my first class with you."

Minho grins, friendly and inviting. "Very cool, I'm glad to have you! I hope you'll enjoy this course. What's your name?"

"Jisung. Han Jisung."

"Nice to meet you, Han Jisung. Lee Minho." Minho picks up his marker and notebook again as Jisung starts walking over to his choice of seat. Jisung offers an endeared smile back to him, holding his papers in both hands.

"Nice to meet you too, Dr. Lee," he says politely.

"Dr. Lee's my mother," Minho laughs softly, and it's one of the brightest, cutest sounds Jisung's heard. "You can call me Minho."

⋯

 **don't answer** [8:16PM]: I think you still have my blue sweater.

 **don't answer** [8:16PM]: Can I have it back?

 **me** [8:49PM]: can i have my virginity back?

 **me** [8:50PM] and all of my time?

 **don't answer** [9:01PM]: Fair enough

⋯

There are moments in the day that Jisung looks forward to.

The feeling of a clean shirt, fresh out of the dryer, sliding over his skin in the morning. The sound of ice crackling in his glass of milk and coffee when he stirs it up with a spoon. Having breakfast with Hyunjin and Changbin, hearing them laugh and watching them bicker like they're married before he has to leave them for class. Finding his headphones all tangled up in his pocket so he can untangle them on the bus ride to campus, keeping his hands busy while his mind wanders above the clouds.

Jisung's senior year has been the best of his university years by far. He's taken some very valuable classes, managed to impress himself with his own work, and met some other lit majors that he never would have had the courage to talk to before if it weren't for limited seating and constant group projects. He's experienced a lot of growth, both in his abilities as a writer and in himself, as Jisung. Jisung who isn't afraid to initiate conversation with strangers anymore, who gets his assignments done long before the due date and goes to bed before the sun comes up. The term is coming to an end, and it's a bittersweet reality. All Jisung's known for the last four years of his life is the structure and routine of college life, and it's ending so quickly.

Tonight, the application for graduation goes live on the university's website. Jisung doesn't think he's ever looked forward to something quite so much.

Jisung leaves his fiction seminar and meets up with Seungmin and Felix at the library. Hyunjin joins them a little bit later, and when they're all present, they pull their laptops from their bags and navigate to the grad application. After a handful of wordless minutes, Seungmin announces that his is submitted. Hyunjin is next. Felix and Jisung submit theirs within seconds of each other, and when all is said and done, they stare amongst each other until they burst into hushed, excited whispers about how they can't believe they're finally, _finally_ fucking graduating. It's been a long time coming.

They go for drinks at a nearby noraebang to celebrate, and under the multicolored lights, the buzz of soju, and the sound of his friends singing some SNSD song at the top of their lungs, Jisung has never felt so certain that things are great and are only going to get greater.

It took longer than Jisung would like to admit to get to this point. The first couple months of the past year were spent in a state Jisung's never quite been in before. The kind where his heart throbs in his chest until his ribs feel sore, like he's been kicked in them. The kind where it's hard to get up in the morning and hard to fall asleep. Jisung would cry so hard and for so long that it felt like he would run out of tears in his body. But there were always more.

As much as his friends can be bad influences on him, like talking him into staying up late and drinking too much, they're easily the best influences on Jisung's life and he doesn't know if he'd have made it to this point if it weren't for them. Hyunjin especially, who's become something like an expert in cheering up Jisung considering he's known him ever since they were in their emo, the-world-is-constantly-ending middle school years. He took the time to coddle Jisung during the first few weeks, letting him eat through as much ice cream and watch as many sad romance films as he wanted, but when it was time for Jisung to get up and start living his life again, he was the firm but compassionate push forward that Jisung needed.

He started going out on weekends again, got better at certain video games, ate better, and started reading more things that intrigue and inspire him. He's amassed quite the used book collection and he knows it's going to be hell moving them all once he and Hyunjin move out of their dorm. He started writing more poetry and more fiction, too, putting his all into creating pieces that he was proud of.

The hardest was letting Felix install dating apps on his phone, and even harder was talking himself into actually using them, but some good came out. He went on dates, met some nice guys, kissed a few of them and let a couple take him home. He had fun. He even landed himself a boyfriend that he's still grateful for, even though they made the mutual decision to end their relationship after two months. Jisung has started trying to view all of his bad experiences as positives for more growth, or whatever the hell his mom always says when he comes crying to her about something. He gets discouraged, but after a short round of moping, he tries again. It's not always easy, but he tries again.

Jisung is getting along, and he is happy.

⋯

The bar is packed and the music is kind of awful, but he likes the atmosphere enough and the drink menu looks promising, so he's willing to spend an hour or so here before they move onto the next. Since he moved to this district of Seoul he hasn't gotten out very much, spending more time working and unpacking than getting to know his new neighborhood. So he's thankful for the little group of coworkers who'd invited him out tonight, and even more thankful for Felix who'd agreed to come out and bar hop with them despite how busy he's been, too.

"What are you gonna get?" Felix asks, leaning over to speak near Jisung's ear so he can hear over the music. He brought his boyfriend who's sitting on the other side of him and Jisung was happy to hear that he was coming along; he's only met Chan a couple of times but he really likes him. He's sweet, funny, and he makes Felix happy. There's not much more Jisung could ask of him. "Chan says he'll get whatever you get. He doesn't like sweet stuff so he won't let me pick."

Jisung shares a look with Chan that speaks of the countless times they've both let Felix make them a drink only to be served a concoction that was ninety percent juice and ten percent alcohol. He glances over the menu in front of him and pouts in consideration. "I'll probably just start with a beer?"

Felix frowns, rolling his eyes at Jisung's predictability. He flags the bartender down and orders two beers for Chan and Jisung, and a Tom Collins for himself with 'mostly lemonade.' Jisung nods his head at her in thanks and twists absentmindedly on his stool, sinking into some conversation with a couple of his coworkers that have sidled up to his other side.

Jisung is sipping from his bottle while his younger coworker, a sweetheart from the marketing department, talks about a movie she's recently seen and he finds himself zoning out a little, disinterested in the plot but not wanting to be rude. He nods and offers an interjection of _wow_ or _oh, really?_ every once in a while, but he's glad that the other people in the conversation are carrying so it's not so obvious that he's not paying attention. His gaze drifts beyond her so that he can scope the bar, taking in the decor and the kinds of people that are hanging around, dancing and talking and clinking their glasses together before they take shots. They all look so carefree, bright smiles all over the place. Jisung sees a smile that he hasn't in a long time.

Minho hasn't aged a day. His hair's a little lighter, a different cut, maybe. He has different glasses. Jisung can almost hear his laugh even from this far away, the trill that accompanies the big, white smile, head thrown back, eyes squeezed closed. He's in a loose button up and jeans, sneakers from his big collection if Jisung looks close enough. It's been a few years, and yet he looks exactly like the Minho that Jisung had to forget about. Tried to, at least. Thought he did a good job of forgetting.

He doesn't realize that he's staring until his coworker points it out, nudging him in the arm and joking, "you see something you like, Ji?"

Jisung looks at her and blinks, shaking his head slowly as he processes what she's just asked and then quicker when he understands how he must have come off, ogling some guy from across the bar. "No! No, it's not like that. I just thought I... recognized someone."

She tries to look over her shoulder to see who Jisung's talking about, but he waves his hands defensively and gently tugs on her arm to keep her from giving him away. He keeps glancing in Minho's direction as if to make sure that he doesn't see their spectacle and notice him, but part of him almost wants to see if he _would_ notice him. What he would think. If he'd have the balls to make eye contact with him.

Minho settles in his seat and picks up his drink, taking a sip and turning his head to have a casual look around while he does. Jisung's heart sinks into his ass. Minho spots him, because of course he does; it would be hard not to notice the guy trying so hard to act like he's not looking at you. Jisung freezes, stuck in a stare-down with him.

The look on Minho's face is pure shock, reflective of the dumbfounded expression that must be on Jisung's. Seeing him, taking in the familiarity of his face and all of the memories and feelings that come with it feels like such a strange form of nostalgia. In half of Jisung's chest, there's a hollow ache of sadness. In the other, there's something like dim, distant sunlight. Warmth trying to creep its way in. It's like seeing an old friend. He doesn't know what to do.

What are the odds that Minho would be here, in _this_ bar, in _this_ neighborhood, at the same time as Jisung, and, to really ice the cake, _see him?_ Why doesn't he look horrified? Why doesn't Jisung _feel_ horrified?

Jisung looks away to respond to the bartender who's asking him if he'd like another beer. He tells her he would, and when he glances Minho's way again, he finds him still looking but trying to act like he isn't. Jisung finds himself starting to smile in amusement of the whole situation. This is entirely crazy. Unbelievable.

A small, clumsy smile makes its way onto Minho's lips, his bunny-like teeth showing beneath them. This all feels eerily familiar, like a wicked case of deja vu. Jisung lifts his hand and waves timidly. Minho gives a small wave back.

Jisung turns toward the bar and takes his beer once it's set in front of him. He thanks the bartender and then leans over to rest his free hand on Felix's shoulder to get his attention. Felix looks over his shoulder with wide, curious eyes.

"I'm about to go do something stupid," Jisung says, taking a swig of his beer. "If I'm not back in twenty minutes, please come find me."

Felix furrows his eyebrows. "Stupid like what?"

Jisung offers a wrinkle of the nose and not much else before he's walking away from his friends. "Han Jisung!" he hears Felix call behind him, but he's already off.

Minho is looking down into his glass when Jisung approaches him. He's leaning against his table, lips poked out in thought while he swirls the ice in his glass around distractedly. Jisung sets his bottle down beside the glass and leans against the table, too, resting his chin in his hand. When Minho looks up at him, Jisung grins coolly although his lungs feel so tight he might pass out. "Hi," he says, his smile growing as Minho's does.

"Well, holy shit. Hi."

Jisung rests his other hand on the table, tracing a groove in the wood. "Long time no see."

Minho laughs briefly, shaking his head. "I almost didn't recognize you. You're still blonde in my head."

"What gave me away?"

Minho squints at him, and then smiles bright enough to blind him. "The cheeks. And your little mouth."

Jisung asks Minho what he's doing here, considering they're so far from the city they first met in, and it turns out Minho's here celebrating a friend's birthday. Jisung both likes that and doesn't; he probably won't see Minho again after this, and he's not sure if he's glad about that or not. When Minho asks what brings him here, Jisung admits that he lives here now, moved a couple of months ago for a job. Minho looks so pleased to hear that.

"That's great! What do you do?"

"I'm an editor for a literary magazine," he says, always feeling pretty proud when he tells people that. "I run their social media, too."

Minho nods along, a starstruck look in his eyes. "That's amazing, Jisung. That's perfect for you."

"Are you still teaching?"

"I am. Only one school now, though! I started teaching full time at SNU last year."

Jisung's relieved. He's happy to hear that he's still teaching, at their alma mater no less, and that he didn't ruin it for him. Minho had worked so hard to build his tenure, and to know that he got offered full time makes Jisung feel proud for him. "I'm really happy to hear that. You really wanted it."

"Thank you. I... yeah. I did." Minho looks down into his glass again, watching the melting ice cubes move around each other. Jisung glances down at them, too.

"What are you, like, thirty-five now?"

Minho scoffs, throwing an offended expression Jisung's way. "I'm only thirty-four!"

Jisung laughs. "As if I was so far off! Sorry, old man." He takes a drink from his beer bottle, then stands up a little straighter. "I'll be twenty-six soon so I really can't talk."

"Honestly! You've got a lot of nerve calling me old. Geezer."

Jisung laughs again, reaching out to playfully shove Minho in the arm.

This feels too good to be true. This is, in fact, something Jisung doesn't even believe, the longer the night goes on and the more beer he drinks. How he and Minho can slip back into each other after years apart, after everything that's happened, after all of the nights that Jisung spent sobbing and broken over him. They stand there catching up like they're just two old friends with nothing but positive history between them, and Jisung doesn't think he could keep the smile off his face if he tried. Minho doesn't seem much better off.

Felix keeps to his duty of coming to check on Jisung once twenty minutes have gone by and he still hasn't returned. The blonde rests his hand on Jisung's back and startles him out of the daze he's fallen into, having been gazing at Minho helplessly while Minho talks about his new cat. Jisung looks behind him at his best friend and offers him a big grin as if to say everything is going fine, and that this may be a bad idea, but he's having a good time. Felix smiles back, shaking his head.

"Me and Chan are gonna head out, I've got work in the morning," Felix says, reaching up to brush some loose hair out of Jisung's face. "Your coworkers are still at the bar, but call me if you need anything, okay? I'll get you an Uber."

Jisung nods. "Thank you, I will. See you later, Lix." He gives his friend a tight hug before he waves goodbye to him, watching him walk back to the bar to retrieve his boyfriend. Jisung waves to Chan when he sees the older man looking back at him, and then turns his attention back to Minho who's been looking on fondly.

"You have really good friends."

Jisung smiles softly. "They're alright."

Minho rolls his eyes playfully as he slips his hand into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet. "Do you want another drink?"

Sitting at the bar with Minho, twisting idly on his barstool while they talk, revisiting old inside jokes and memories about things they did one time or another, Jisung starts to worry about his stupid, sorry little heart that's beating so quickly, so hopefully. In all of the delight that comes with running into someone that was once so important to him, he has to be mindful not to forget the reality of their standing with each other. Beneath the joy he feels right now, Jisung's still got some bitterness for Minho festering in the back of his throat. He can't just let that go.

Maybe it's the third beer talking, or his brain taking the wheel from his heart, but he finds himself blurting, "fucking any of your students?"

Minho deadpans, freezing. His glass was halfway to his lips, but it's hanging in the air now as he processes what Jisung's just asked him. "Jisung... no. I'm not."

" _Fucked_ any of your students?"

He sets his glass down and folds his arms, resting them on the bar-top. " _No,_ I haven't. You think I go around looking for students to sleep with? Is that what you genuinely think of me?"

Jisung retracts from attack mode. His shoulders sag. "No, it's not. I know you don't. Sue me for being a little insecure when I've been drinking and my ex is around."

They're both quiet for a long moment, looking away from each other as they try to figure out how to navigate the maze of tension that's settled on them. Jisung takes another sip and then pushes his bottle away, even though it's still half full. He needs to speak up for himself, and without the aid of liquid courage.

"You really fucked me up, you know," he says, looking directly at Minho. "Well, I think I fucked myself up the most, but you helped."

"Yeah. That's what I was afraid of."

"I... I was good to you. I did everything I could to keep us a secret. I always just wanted... to make you happy."

"And you did make me happy, Jisung. I always told you that. And I know that I made you happy, too, and things felt so good, but you deserved normal. I wanted to give you normal, and I couldn't. I wanted to take you out and kiss you in public and fucking... I don't know. Make it Facebook official. Do people still use Facebook?" He laughs at himself, and Jisung does, too. "Wanted to sit with you at a bar just like this and not give a fuck who was looking."

Another bout of quiet settles in the space between them. The bartender asks if they'd like refills on their drinks, but they both decline. Minho swings his foot a little, like a little kid sitting on something high up.

"Losing you felt like losing... a big part of me, as corny as that probably sounds. That's the only way I can describe it. You meant a lot to me, Ji, and the last thing I wanted to do was jeopardize anything between us. I fucking adored you. I would have done anything for you. Including break up with you because I wanted you to have a good life with or without me."

Jisung stares at him, chewing on his bottom lip and playing with a button at the hem of his jacket. At the time, Jisung didn't understand what he meant every time he said he was afraid of negatively impacting Jisung, of damaging him with the inherent power imbalance, of putting his education and wellbeing at risk. After epiphanies and long talks with himself about all the times that Jisung did and said and wrote things only to gain praise from Minho, bitching like a spoiled kid because he didn't get a good grade on an exam, and in the end having sex with him not because he necessarily wanted to but because he just wanted Minho to pay attention to him — he gets it. And he sees how good of Minho that was, even if Jisung didn't want to accept it then.

"For what it's worth, you fucked me up, too," Minho continues sheepishly. He looks at Jisung. "That doesn't matter, but. Yeah. I had a really hard time getting over you. I don't want you to think I dropped you and... started fucking other students or whatever you thought."

Jisung rests his hand on Minho's knee, scratching lightly at the denim of his jeans with his pointer finger. It makes Minho jerk his knee a little, a ticklish response which then makes Jisung smile minutely. He looks up at Minho. "You promise?"

Minho's gaze could burn Jisung alive with how warm and piercing it is. Jisung feels his cheeks start to turn pink, and if he looks close enough, he can see that Minho's are flushing, too. "Of course I promise."

Jisung leaves the bar with a full heart and an invitation to grab coffee this weekend. Minho gave him his number and Jisung pretended to type it into his phone because he'd never deleted it in the first place. Sitting in the backseat of the Uber that Felix called for him, Jisung sends Minho a text offering a simple _goodnight,_ and before he gets home he gets a message back. _Goodnight, Ji._

He does meet up with Minho for coffee at a spot they'd visited once or twice, close to Minho's place, days later. When he walks into the cafe and spots Minho, the older man gets up and greets him with a hug, one that Jisung melts into like he's been waiting for it. They sit at a table by the window, all smiles and tender touches over lattes and a shared pastry, and it feels like a new beginning. 

**Author's Note:**

> poems referenced in this work:
> 
> [somewhere i have never traveled,gladly beyond], e.e. cummings  
> pupil, d.a. powell  
> please master, allen ginsberg  
> the platonic blow, w.h. auden
> 
> please let me know what you thought! thank you for reading ♡
> 
> catch me on my [nsfw twitter](https://twitter.com/lNNlEC0RE) for updates, drabbles, and sneak peeks~


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